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The Adventure with the Basket of Coin 







A 


CHANCE FOR HIMSELF; 

OR, 


Jack Hazard and His Treasure. 


yj Jr 

]: T.‘ TROWBRIDGE, 

J it 


Author or “Jack Hazard and His Fortunes,” “Lawrence’s 
Adventures,” etc. 



PHILADELPHIA 
HENRY T. COATES & CO. 

' 2 -' 

0 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRE5S, 

Two Copies Received 

APR 25 1903 


I Copyright Entry 
OLASS (Xs No. 


£ fc> 

COPY A. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, 

BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington 



CONTENTS 


Chapter Page 

I. The Thunder-Squall 7 

II. What Jack found in the Log ... 13 

III. “Treasure-Trove” 19 

IY. In which Jack counts his Chickens . . 28 

Y. Waiting for the Deacon 32 

YI. “About that Half-Dollar” .... 36 

YII. How Jack went for his Treasure ... 41 

VIII. Jack and the Squire 49 

IX. The Squire’s Perplexity and Jack’s Stratagem 58 

X. “The Huswick Tribe” 65 

XI. The “Court” and the “Verdict” ... 70 

XII. How Hod’s Trousers went to the Squire’s 

House 78 

XIII. How Jack rescued Lion, but missed the 

Treasure 82 

XIV. Squire Peternot at Home .... 89 

XV. Jack and the Huswick Boys .... 96 

XVI. How Jack called at the Squire’s . . 104 

XVII. How Jack took to his Heels . . . .111 

XVIII. How the Heels went Home without Shoes 

and Stockings 116 


iv 


CONTENTS. 


XIX. 

XX. 
XXL 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 

XL. 

XLI. 


How Jack was invited to ride . . .122 

How the Shoes and Stockings came Home 128 

Jack in Disgrace 135 

Jack and the Jolly Constable . . 143 

Before Judge Garty 150 

The Prisoner’s Cup of Milk . . . 157 

Jack’s Prisoners 160 

The Owner of the Potato Patch, and his 

Dog 167 

The Race, and how it ended . . . 174 

The Search, and how it ended . . . 179 

The Culvert and the Cornfield . . 187 

Jack breakfasts and receives a Visitor . 194 

Tea with Aunt Patsy .... 201 

A Starlight Walk with Annie Felton . 208 

A Strange Call at a Strange Hour of the 
Night 216 

How Jack won a Bet, and returned a 
Favor 221 

At Mr. Chatford’s Gate .... 227 

The “Ride” continued .... 234 

One of the Deacon’s Blunders . . 239 

The Deacon’s Diplomacy .... 246 

A Turn of Fortune 251 

The Squire’s Triumph 257 

How IT ALL ENDED 264 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


The Adventure with the Basket of Coin . 

Initial Letter 

Sounding the Half-Dollar . ... 

“It’s a great Secret” .... 
“Boy! are you a Robber?” . 

Peternot in the Hollow Log 
The “Court” in the Woods . 

Jack rescues Lion 

Jack at the Window .... 

An abrupt Leave-Taking .... 
A convincing Argument .... 

Good by, old Friend ! 

“A Trick worth two of that” 

The End of the Race 

A new Acquaintance .... 

A true Friend 

Starting for the Jail 

Bringing in the Treasure .... 

The Squire’s Triumph .... 


Frontispiece. 

. Page 7 
. 22 
43 
. 50 

63 
. 73 

84 
. 107 
113 
. 129 

143 
. 169 

178 
. 196 

211 
. 235 

241 
. 262 







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A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF 


CHAPTER I. 


THE THUNDER-SQUALL. 


N a high, hilly pasture, oc- 
cupying the northeast cor- 
ner of Peach Hill Farm, a 
man and two hoys were 
one afternoon clearing the 
ground of stones. 

The man — noticeable for 
his round shoulders, round 
puckered mouth, and two 
large, shining front teeth — 
wielded a stout iron bar 
called a “crow,” with which 
he pried up the turf-bound 
rocks, and helped to tum- 
ble them over upon a drag, 
called in that region a 
“ stun-boat.” The larger of 
the boys — a bright, active 
lad of about fourteen years 
— lent a hand at the heavy 
rocks, and also gathered up and cast upon the drag the 




8 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


smaller stones, on his own account. The second lad 

— nearly as tall, and perhaps quite as old as the other 

— helped a little about the stones, but divided his 
attention chiefly between the horse that drew the drag, 
and a shaggy black dog that accompanied the party. 

“ Come, boy ! ” said the man, — enunciating the m 
and b by closing the said front teeth upon his nether 
lip, — “ ye better quit fool’n’, an’ ketch holt and help. 
’S go’n’ to rain.” 

“ Ain’t I helping ? ” retorted the smaller boy. 
“ Don’t I drive the horse ? ” 

“ A great sight, — long ’s the reins are on his back, 
an’ I haf to holler to him half the time to git up an’ 
whoa. Git up, Maje ! there ! whoa ! — Jack ’s wuth 
jest about six of ye.” 

“ 0, Jack ’s dreadful smart ! Beats everything ! 
And so are you, Phi Pipkin ! ” said the boy, sneer- 
ingly. “ You feel mighty big since you got married, 
don’t ye ? — I bet ye Lion ’s got a squirrel under that 
big rock ! I ’m going to see ! ” And away he ran. 

“ That ’ere Phin Chatford ain’t wuth the salt in his 
porridge, — if I do say it ! ” remarked Mr. Pipkin. “ I 
never did see sich a shirk ; though when he comes 
to tell what ’s been done, you ’d think he was boss of 
all creation. Peel as if I ’d like to take the gad to 
him sometimes, by hokey ! ” 

“ 0 Jack ! ” cried Phin, who had mounted a boulder 
much too large for Mr. Pipkin’s crow-bar, “ you can 
see Lake Ontario from here, — ’way over the trees 
there ! Come and get up here ; it ’s grand ! ” 


THE THUNDER-SQUALL. 


9 


“ 1 ’ve been up there before/’ replied Jack. “ Have 
n’t time now. We shall have that shower here 
before we get half across the lot.” 

“ Come, Phin ! ” called out Mr. Pipkin, “ there ’s 
reason in all things ! We’ll onhitch soon’s we git 
this load, an’ dodge a wettin’.” 

“ Seems to me you ’re all- fired ’fraid of a wetting, 
both of ye,” cried Phin. “ ’T won’t hurt me I Let it 
come, and be darned to it, I say ! ” 

This last exclamation sounded so much like blas- 
phemy to the boy’s own ears, and it was followed 
immediately by so vivid a flash of lightning and so 
terrific a peal of thunder, from a black cloud rolling 
up overhead, that he jumped down from the rock 
and crouched beside it, looking ludicrously pale and 
scared ; while the dog, dropping ears and tail, and 
whining and trembling with fear, ran first for Jack’s 
legs, then for Mr. Pipkin’s, and finally crouched by 
the boulder with Phin. 

“ You ’re a perty pictur’ there ! ” cried Mr. Pipkin, 
with a loud, hoarse laugh. “ Who ’s afraid now 1 ” 

“ Lion, I guess, — I ain’t,” said Phin, with an 
unnatural grin. “ Only thought I ’d sit down a 
spell.” 

“ It ’s as cheap settin’ as standin’, — as the old hen 
remarked, arter she ’d sot a month on rotten eggs, an’ 
nary chicken,” said Mr. Pipkin, whose spirits rose 
with the excitement of the occasion. 

“ There ’s a good reason for the dog’s skulking,” 
said Jack. “He’s afraid of thunder, ever since 


10 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


Squire Peternot fired the old musket in his face and 
eyes. Hello ! another crack ! ” 

“ I never see sich thunder ! ” exclaimed Mr. Pipkin. 
“ Look a’ them rain-drops ! big as bullets 1 ” 

“ It ’s coming ! ” cried Jack ; and instantly the heavy 
thunder-gust swept over them. 

“ Onhitch ! ” roared out Mr. Pipkin, in the sudden 
tumult of rain and wind and thunder. “ I must look 
out for my rheumatiz ! Put for the house ! ” 

“We shall get drenched before we are half-way to 
the house,” replied Jack, dropping the trace-chains. 
“ I go' for the woods ! ” 

“ 1 11 take Old Maje, then,” said Mr. Pipkin. 

But before he could mount, Phin, darting from the 
imperfect shelter of the rock, ran and leaped across 
the horse’s back. As he was scrambling to a seat, 
holding on by mane and harness, kicking, and calling 
out, “ Give me a boost, Phi ! ” Mr. Pipkin gave him 
a boost, and lost his hat by the operation. That 
was quickly recovered ; but before the owner, clap- 
ping it on his head, could get back to the horse’s side, 
the youthful rider, using the gathered-up reins for a 
whip, had started for the barn. 

“ Whoa ! hold on ! take me ! ” bellowed Mr. Pipkin. 
“ He won’t carry double — ask Jack ! ” 

Flinging these parting words over his shoulder, the 
treacherous Phin went off at a gallop, leaving Mr. 
Pipkin to follow, at a heavy “dog- trot,” over the dark- 
ened hill, through the rushing, blinding storm. 

J ack w T as already leaping a wall which separated 


THE THUNDER-SQUALL. 


11 


the pasture from a neighboring wood-lot. Plunging 
in among the reeling and clashing trees, he first 
sought shelter by placing himself close under the lee 
of a large basswood ; but the rain dashed through the 
surging mass of foliage above, and trickled down 
upon him from trunk and limbs. 

Looking hastily about to see if he could better his 
situation, he cast his eye upon a prostrate tree, which 
some former gale had broken and overthrown, and 
from which the branches had mostly rotted and fallen 
away. It appeared to be hollow at the butt, and 
Jack ran to it, laughing at the thought of crawling in 
out of the rain. He put in his head, but took it out 
again immediately. The cavity was dark, and a dis- 
agreeable odor of rotten wood, suggestive of bugs and 
“ thousand-legged worms,” repelled him. 

“ Never mind ! ” thought he. “ I can clap my 
clothes in the hole, and have ’em dry to put on after 
the shower is over.” 

He stripped himself in a moment, rolled up his 
garments in a neat bundle, and placed them, with his 
hat and shoes, within the hollow log. 

“ Now for a jolly shower-bath ! ” And, seeing an 
opening in the woods a little farther on, he capered 
towards it, laughing at the oddness of his situation, 
and at the feeling of the rain trickling down his bare 
back. A few more lightning flashes and tremendous 
claps of thunder, then a steady, pouring rain for 
about five minutes, in which Jack danced and 
screamed in great glee, — and the storm was over. 


12 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ What a soaking Phi and Phin must have got ! ” 
thought he. “ And now won’t they be surprised to 
see me come home in dry clothes ! ” 

The wind had gone down before ; and now a flood 
of silver light, like a more ethereal shower, broke 
upon the still woods, brightening through its arched 
vistas, glancing from the leaves, and glistening in 
countless drops from the dripping boughs. A light 
wind passed, and every tree seemed to shake down 
laughingly from its shining locks a shower of pearls. 
Jack was filled with a sense of wonder and joy as he 
walked back through the beautiful, fresh, wet woods 
to his hollow log. He waited only a minute or two 
for his skin to dry, and for the boughs to cease drip- 
ping ; then put in his hand where he had left his 
clothes. His clothes were not there ! 

J ack was startled : in place of the anticipated tri- 
umph of going home in dry garments, here was a chance 
of his going home in no garments at all ! Yet who 
could have taken them ? how was it possible that they 
could have been removed during his brief absence ? 
“ Maybe this is n’t the log ! ” He looked around. 
“ Yes, it is, though ! ” 

No other fallen trunk at all resembling it was to 
be seen in the woods. Then he stooped again, and 
thrust his hand as far as he could into the opening. 
He touched something, — not what he sought, but a 
mass of hair, and the leg of some large animal. He 
recoiled instinctively, with — it must be confessed — 
a start of fear. 


WHAT JACK FOUND IN THE LOG. 


ia 


CHAPTER II. 

WHAT JACK FOUND IN THE LOG. 

Jack’s first thought was, that the creature, what- 
ever it might he, was in the log when he placed his 
clothes there, and that it had afterwards seized them 
and perhaps torn them to pieces. Then he reflected 
that the hair he touched felt wet ; and he said, 
“ The thing ran to its hole after I put the clothes 
in, and it has pushed ’em along farther into the log. 
Wonder what it can be!” It was evidently much 
too large for a raccoon or a woodchuck : could it be a 
panther ? or a young bear ? “ He ’s got my clothes, 

any way ! I must get him out, or go home without 
’em ! ” 

Naked and weaponless as he was, he naturally 
shrank from attacking the strange beast ; nor was it 
pleasant to think of going home in his present con- 
dition. It was not at all probable that Mr. Pipkin 
and Phin would return to their work that afternoon ; 
and he was too far from the house to make his cries 
for help heard. He resolved to call, however. 

“ Maybe I can make Lion hear. I wonder if he 
went home.” He remembered that the frightened 
dog was last seen crouching with Phin beside the 
rock, and hoping he was there still, he began to 
call. 


14 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ Lion ! here, Lion ! ” and, putting his fingers to his 
mouth, he whistled till all the woods rang. Then 
suddenly — for he watched the log all the while — he 
heard a tearing and rattling in the cavity, and saw 
that the beast was coming out. Stepping quickly 
backwards, he tripped over a stick ; and the next 
moment the creature — big and shaggy and wet — 
was upon him. 

“ You rogue ! you coward ! old Lion ! what a fright 
you gave me ! what have you done with my clothes ? 
you foolish boy’s dog ! ” For the beast was no other 
than Lion himself ; frightened from his retreat beside 
the boulder, he had followed his young master to the 
woods, and crept into the hollow of the log, after 
Jack had left his clothes in it. 

J ack returned to the log, and with some difficulty 
fished out his garments. He unfolded them one by 
one, holding them up and regarding them with ludi- 
crous dismay. Lion had made a bed of them ; and 
between his drenched hide and the rotten wood, they 
had suffered no slight damage. 

“0, my trousers!” Jack lamented. “And just 
look at that shirt ! I ’d better have worn them in 
fifty showers! So much for having a dog that’s 
afraid of thunder ! ” And he gave the mischief- 
maker a cuff on the ear. 

Jack recovered everything except one shoe, which 
he could not get without going considerably farther 
than he liked into the decayed trunk. 

“ Here, Lion ! you must get that shoe ! That ’s no 


WHAT JACK FOUND IN THE LOG. 15 

more than fair. Understand ? ” And showing the 
other shoe, he pointed at the hole. 

In went Lion, scratching and scrambling, and pres- 
ently came out again, bringing the shoe in his mouth. 
Encouraged by his young master’s approval, and 
eager to atone for his cowardice and the mischief he 
had done, he went in again, although no other article 
was missing, and was presently heard pawing and 
pulling at something deep in the log. 

“ After squirrels, maybe,” said Jack, as, dressing 
himself, he stepped aside to avoid the volleys of dirt 
which now and then flew out of the opening. 

He thought no more of the matter, until the dog 
came backwards out of the hole, shook himself, and 
laid a curious trophy down by the shoe. Jack looked 
at it, and saw to his surprise that it was a metallic 
handle, such as he had seen used on the ends of small 
chests and trunks, or on bureau-drawers. He scraped 
off with his knife some of the rust with which it was 
covered, and found that it was made of brass. At 
the ends were short rusty screws, which, upon exam- 
ination, appeared to have been recently wrenched out 
of a piece of damp wood. 

“ It’s a trunk-handle,” said Jack. “Lion has 
pulled it off. And the trunk is in the log ! ” 

He grew quite excited over the discovery, and sent 
the dog in again for further particulars, while he 
hurriedly put on his shoes. Lion gnawed and dug 
for a while, and at last reappeared with a small strip 
of partially decayed board in his mouth. 


16 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ It ’s a piece of the box ! ” exclaimed J ack. “ Try 
again, old fellow ! ” 

Lion plunged once more into the opening, and 
immediately brought out something still more ex- 
traordinary. It was a round piece of metal, about 
the size of an American half-dollar ; but so badly 
tarnished that it was a long time before Jack would 
believe that it was really money. He rubbed, he 
scraped, he turned it over, and rubbed and scraped 
again, then uttered a scream of delight. 

“ A silver half-dollar, sure as you live, old Lion ! ” 

The dog was already in the log again. This time 
he brought out two more pieces of money like the 
first, and dropped them in Jack’s hand. 

“ Here, Lion ! ” cried the excited lad. “ I ’m going 
in there myself ! ” 

He pulled the dog away, and entered the cavity, 
quite regardless now of rotten wood, bugs, and “ thou- 
sand-legged worms.” His heels were still sticking out 
of the log, when his hand touched the broken end of 
a small trunk, and slid over a heap of coin, which had 
almost filled it, and run out in a little stream from the 
opening the dog had made. 

Out came Jack again, covered with dirt, his hair 
tumbled over his eyes, and both hands full of half- 
dollars. He dashed back the stray locks with his 
sleeve, glanced eagerly at the coin, looked quickly 
around to see if there was any person in sight, then 
examined the contents of his hands. 

“ If there ’s no owner to this money, I ’m a rich 


WHAT JACK FOUND IN THE LOG. 17 

man ! ” he said, with sparkling eyes. “ There ain’t 
less than a thousand dollars in that trunk ! ” 

To a lad in his circumstances, five-and-twenty 
years ago, such a suin might well appear prodigious. 
To Jack it was an immense fortune. 

“ And how can there be an owner ? ” he reasoned. 
“ It must have been in that log a good many years, — 
long enough for the trunk to begin to rot, any way. 
Some fellow must have stolen it and hid it there; 
and he ’d have been back after it long ago, if he had 
n’t been dead, — or like enough he ’s in prison some- 
where. Here, Lion ! keep out of that ! ” and Jack 
cuffed the dog’s ears, to enforce strict future obedience 
to that command. “ Nobody must know of that log,” 
he muttered, looking cautiously all about him again, 
“ till I can take the money away.” 

But now, along with the sudden tide of his joy and 
hopes, a multitude of doubts rushed in upon his mind. 
How was he to keep his great discovery a secret until 
he should be ready to take advantage of it ? The 
thief who had stolen the coin might be dead ; but 
was it not the finder’s duty to seek out the real owner 
and restore it to him ? Already that question began 
to disturb the boy’s conscience ; but he soon forgot 
it in the consideration of others more immediately 
alarming. 

“ The thief may have been in prison, and he may 
come back this very night to find his booty ! Or the 
owner of the land may claim it, because it was found 
on his premises.” And Jack remembered with no 


18 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


little anxiety that the land belonged to Mr. Chatford’s 
neighbor, the stern and grasping Squire Peternot. 
“ Or, after all,” he thought, “ it may be counterfeit ! ” 

That was the most unpleasant conjecture of any. 
“ I ’ll find out about that, the first thing,” said Jack ; 
and he determined to keep his discovery in the mean 
while a profound secret. 

Accordingly, after due deliberation, he crept back 
into the log, and replaced the piece of the trunk, 
with the handle, and all the coin except one half- 
dollar; then, having partially stopped the opening 
with broken sticks and branches, he started for home. 


TREASURE-TROVE.’ 


19 


CHAPTER III. 

“ TREASURE-TROVE.” 

Taking a circuitous route, in order that, if he was 
seen emerging from the woods, it might be at a dis- 
tance from the spot where his treasure was concealed. 
Jack came out upon the pasture, crossed it, took the 
lane, and soon got over the bars into the barn-yard. 
As he entered from one side he met Mr. Pipkin 
coming in from the other. 

“ Hullo ! ” he cried, with a wonderfully natural and 
careless air, “ did ye get wet ? ” 

“ Yes, wet as a drownded rat, I did ! So did Phin, 
— and good enough for him, by hokey ! ” said Mr. 
Pipkin. “ Where ’ve you been ? ” 

“ 0, I went into the woods. Got wet, though, a 
little ; and dirty enough, — just look at my clothes ! ” 
“ I Ve changed mine,” remarked Mr. Pipkin. 
“ Was n’t a rag on me hut what was soakin’ wet. I 
wished I had gone to the woods.” 

“I ’m glad ye did n’t,” thought Jack, as he 
walked on. “ 0,” said he, turning back as if he 
had just thought of something to tell, “ see what I 
found ! ” 

“ Half a dollar ? ye don’t say ! Found it ? Where, 
I want to know ! ” said Mr. Pipkin, rubbing the piece, 
first on his trousers, then on his boot. 


20 


A CHANCE FOK HIMSELF. 


“ Over in the woods there, — picked it up on the 
ground,” said Jack, who discreetly omitted to mention 
the fact that it had first been laid on the ground by 
Lion. 

“ That *s curi’s ! ” remarked Mr. Pipkin. 

“ What is it ? ” said Phin, making his appearance, 
also in dry garments. He looked at the coin, while 
Jack repeated the story he had just told Mr. Pipkin ; 
then said, with a sarcastic smile, “Peel mighty smart, 
don’t ye, with yer old half-dollar ! I don’t believe 
it ’s a good one.” And Master Chatford sounded it 
on a grindstone under the shed. “ Could n’t ye find 
any more where ye found this ? ” 

“ What should I want of any more, if this is n’t a 
good one ? ” replied Jack. “ Here ! give it back to 
me ! ” 

“ ’T ain’t yours,” said Phin, with a laugh, pocketing 
the piece, and making off with it. 

“ It ’s mine, if I don’t find the owner. ’T is n’t 
yours, any way ! Phin Chatford ! ” — Phin started to 
run, giggling as if it was all a good joke, while Jack 
started in pursuit, very much in earnest. “ Give me 
my money, or I ’ll choke it out of ye ! ” he cried, 
jumping upon the fugitive’s back, midway between 
barn and house. 

“ Here, here ! Boys ! hoys ! ” said a reproving 
voice ; and Phin’s father, coming out of the wood- 
shed, approached the scene of the scuffle. “ What ’s 
the trouble, Phineas ? What is it, Jack ? ” 

“ He ’s choking me ! ” squealed Phineas. 


TREASURE-TROVE.” 


21 


“ He ’s got my half-dollar ! ” exclaimed Jack, with- 
out loosing his hold of Phin’s neck. 

“ Come, come ! ” said Mr. Chatford. “ No quarrel- 
ling. Have you got his half-dollar ? ” 

“ Only in fun. Besides, ’t ain’t his ” ; and Phin 
squalled again. 

“ Let go of him, Jack ! ” said Mr. Chatford, sternly. 
Jack obeyed reluctantly. “ Now what is it all 
about ? ” 

“ I ’ll tell ye, deacon ! ” said round-shouldered Mr. 
Pipkin, coming forward. “ It ’s an old half-dollar 
Jack found in the woods ; Phin snatched it and run 
off with ’t. Jack was arter him to git it back ; he lit 
on him like a hawk on a June-bug ; but he ha’ n’t 
begun to give him the chokin’ he desarves ! ” 

“ Give me the money ! ” said the deacon. “No more 
fooling, Phineas ! ” 

“ Here ’s the rusty old thing ! ’T ain’t worth mak- 
ing a fuss about, any way,” said Phin, contemptuously. 
“ Ho ! Jack ! you don’t know how to take a joke ! ” 

“You do know how to take what don’t belong to 
you,” replied Jack. “Is it a good one, Mr. Chatford ? 
That ’s what I want to know.” 

“ Yes, I guess so, — I don’ know, — looks a little 
suspicious. Can’t tell about that, though ; any silver 
money will tarnish, exposed to the damp. I 11 ring 
it. Sounds a little mite peculiar. Who ’s got a half- 
dollar ? ” 

“ I have ! ” cried Phin’s little sister Kate. 

In a minute her piece was brought, and J ack’s was 


22 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


sounded beside it on the door-stone ; J ack listening 
with an anxious and excited look. 



SOUNDING THE HALF-DOLLAR. 


"No, it don’t ring like the other,” observed the 
deacon. Jack’s heart sank. " Has a more leaden 
sound.” His heart went down into his shoes. “ It 
may be good, though, after all.” It began to rise 
again. "We can’t tell how much the rust has to do 
with it. Should n’t wonder if any half-dollar would 



TREASURE-TROVE.’ 


23 


ring a little dull, after it had heen lying out in the 
woods as long as this has.” And Jack’s spirits 
mounted again hopefully. “ I ’m going over to the 
Basin to-night,” concluded the deacon. “ I ’ll take it 
to the watch-maker, and have him test it, if you say 
so.” 

“ I wish you would,” said Jack. “ And — I ’d like 
to know who it belongs to.” 

“ That ’s right ; of course you don’t want it if it ’s 
a bad one, or if you can find the real owner to it.” 

“ I meant,” faltered J ack, — “ of course I would n’t 
think of passing counterfeit money, and I don’t want 
another man’s money any how, — but — I found it 
on somebody’s land. Now I’d like to know if — 
that somebody — has any claim to it, on that ac- 
count.” 

“ I don’t think he ’d be apt to set up a claim, with- 
out he was a pretty mean man,” said the deacon. 

“ Not even if ’t was Squire Peternot ? ” said Mr. 
Pipkin. “ Guess he ’d put in for his share, if there 
was any chance o’ gittin’ on ’t ! ” 

“ Nonsense, Pippy ! If ’t was a large sum, he 
might, but a trifle like this, — you’re unjust to the 
squire, Pippy.” 

“ I have n’t said it was the squire’s land. But 
suppose it was ? And suppose it had been a large 
sum,” queried Jack, “could he claim it? What’s 
the law ? ” And, to explain away his extraordinary 
interest in the legal point, he added, laughingly, 
“ J ust for the fun of it, I ’d like to know what he 


24 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


could do if he should try Phin’s joke, and set out to 
get my half-dollar away ! ” 

“ I really don’t know about the law,” the deacon 
was saying, when Lion barked. “ Hist I here comes 
Peternot himself! Say nothing. I’ll ask him. 
He ’s bringing his nephew over to see us.” 

“ He ’s kind of adopted his nephew, hain’t he, 
sence he heard of his son’s death ? ” said Mr. Pipkin. 
“ I ’ve seen him hangin’ around there.” 

“ No ; he only wants to get him into our school 
next winter.” 

“ Ho ! a schoolmaster ! ” whispered Phin, jeering 
at the new-comer. “ Say, Jack I I bet we can lick 
him!” 

“ Don’t look as if he had any more backbone ’n a 
spring chicken,” was Mr. Pipkin’s unfavorable criti- 
cism, as the gaunt and limping squire came to the 
door with his young relative. 

“ Good afternoon, neighbor,” said the deacon, shak- 
ing hands first with the uncle, then with the nephew. 
“You’ve come just at the right time. We’ve a 
legal question to settle. Suppose Jack, here, finds a 
purse of money on my place ; no owner turns up ; 
now whose purse is it, Jack’s or mine ? ” 

“Your land — your hired boy — I should say, your 
purse,” said the squire, emphatically. 

“ But suppose you find such a purse on my land ? ” 

“ H’m ! that alters the case. How is it, Byron ? 
My nephew is studying law ; he can tell you better 
than I can about it.” 


TREASURE-TROVE.’ 


25 - 


Peternot thought this a good chance to bring the 
candidate for the winter’s school into favorable notice; 
and the candidate for the winter’s school made the 
most of his opportunity. He was a slender young 
man with a sallow complexion, a greenish eye, a 
pimpled forehead, and a rather awkward and studied 
manner of speaking. In rendering his opinion he 
was as prolix as any judge on the bench. He began 
with a disquisition on the nature of law, and finally, 
coming down to the case in point, said it would be 
considered a case of treasure-trove. 

“ What ’s that ? ” Jack eagerly interrupted him. 

“ Treasure- trove is treasure found.” 

“ Then why don’t they say treasure found ? ” 

“ ’Sh, boy ! ” said Mr. Chatford, good-naturedly, 
smiling at the youngster’s impatience of long-winded 
sentences and large words. “ What ’s the law of — 
treasure -trove, I believe you call it, Mr. Dinks ? ” 

“ I don’t think there ’s any law on the subject,” 
replied the student of Blackstone, picking his teeth 
with a straw. 

“ No law ! then how can such a case be decided ? ” 
“ Custom, which makes a sort of unwritten law, 
would here come in.” 

“ Well, what ’s the custom ? ” 

Thereupon Mr. Byron Dinks became prolix again, 
speaking of English custom, which, like English law, 
creates precedents for our own country. The mean- 
ing of his discourse, stripped of its technical phrases 
and tedious repetitions, seemed to be, that formerly, 
2 


26 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


treasure-trove went to the crown ; that in more 
modern times it was divided — in a case like this — 
between the finder and the man on whose premises 
it was found ; but that he did n’t think any precedent 
had been established in America. 

“ We ’re about as wise now as we were before,” 
remarked Phin’s elder brother Moses, standing in the 
kitchen door. 

Mr. Chatford gave him a wink to remain silent, 
and said, “ How are we to understand you, Mr. 
Dinks ? To use your own expression, A finds money 
on B’s premises ; now what would be your advice 
to B ? ” 

“ Supposing B is my client ? I should advise him 
to get possession of the money, if he could. Posses- 
sion is nine points of the law.” 

“ Well, but if he couldn’t get possession ? ” 

“ Then try to compromise for one half. Then for 
a quarter. Then for what he could get.” 

“Very good. How what would be your advice 
to A?” 

“ A is my client ? ” 

“ Yes, we ’ll suppose so.” 

Spitting and throwing away his straw, Mr. Byron 
Dinks said with a laugh, “ My advice to A would be 
to pocket the money and say nothing about it ; keep 
possession, any way ; fight for it.” 

“ Thank you,” .said the deacon, with quiet irony in 
his tones. “How we know what the law is on this 
subject, boys.” 


TREASURE-TROVE.” 


27 


" I don’t see, for my part, that it differs very much 
from common sense,” remarked the simple-minded 
Mr. Pipkin, “ only it takes more words to git at it.” 

“ I ’m sure,” said the squire, “ my nephew has 
given you all the law there is to govern such cases, 
and good advice to his clients. ’T ain’t his fault if 
people can’t understand him.” 

“ I guess we all understand the main point, now 
we ’ve got at it,” said Deacon Chatford. “ Hang on 
to your money. Jack.” 

“You’ve got it,” said Jack, more deeply glad and 
agitated than any one suspected. 

“ So I have. Well, I ’ll tell ye when I get home 
from the Basin to-night whether it’s good or not. 
Walk in, gentlemen.” 

And the deacon entered the house with his guests. 


28 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTEB IY. 

IN WHICH JACK COUNTS HIS CHICKENS. 

Peternot and his nephew took their departure, 
after making a short call. Then the family sat down 
to the supper-table, and the merits and prospects of 
the candidate for the winter’s school were discussed 
in a manner that ought to have made his ears tingle. 
Then, while the boys harnessed the mare and brought 
her to the door, the deacon changed his clothes, and 
at last started for the Basin. 

" Don’t forget to ask about that half-dollar ! ” said 
Jack, as he held the gate open for the buggy to pass 
through. 

“Ixlad you reminded me of it, — I should have 
forgotten it,” replied the notoriously absent-minded 
deacon. 

Jack wished he could have found some excuse for 
going with him, but he could not think of any. 

“ How can I wait till he gets back, to know about 
it ? ” thought he, as he stood at the gate and watched 
the buggy and Mr. Chatford’s black hat disappear 
over the brow of the hill. 

His revery was interrupted by Moses, who, no- 
ticing the boy’s unusual conduct, — for Jack was or- 
dinarily no dreamer when there was work to be done, 
— called out to him from the stable-door, “ Say, 


IN WHICH JACK COUNTS HIS CHICKENS. 29 

Jack ! YOU ’ve got to go and fetch the cows to-night ; 
Phin says he won’t.” 

“It’s Phin’s turn, — but I don’t care, I’ll go” 
And Jack set off for the pasture, glad of this oppor- 
tunity to be alone, and to muse upon his wonderful 
discovery. 

It was a beautiful evening. The air was fresh and 
cool, and perfectly delicious after the shower. The 
sky overhead was silver-clear, but all down the gor- 
geous west, banks and cliffs and floating bars of cloud 
burned with the hues of sunset. Jack’s heart ex- 
panded, as he walked up the lane ; and there, in that 
lovely atmosphere, he built his airy castles. 

“ If I am a rich man,” thought he, “ what shall I 
do with my money ? I ’ll put it out at interest for a 
year or two, — I wonder how much there is 1 That ’ll 
help me get an education. Then I ’ll go into busi- 
ness, or buy a little place somewhere, and I ’ll have 
my horses and wagons and hired men, and — ” 0, 
what a vision of happiness floated before his eyes ! 
riches, honors, friendships, and in the midst of all the 
sweetest face in the world, — the face of his dearest 
friend, Mrs. Chatford’s niece, Annie Felton. 

Then he looked back wonderingly upon his past 
life. “ I can hardly believe that I was nothing but a 
mean, ragged, swearing little canal-driver only a few 
months ago. Over yonder are the woods where the 
charcoal-burners were, that I wanted to hire out to, 
after I had run away from the scow, — the idea of 
my hiring out to them ! Now here I am, treated like 


30 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


one of Mr. Chatford’s own boys 3 and — with all that 
money, if it is money,” he added, his heart swelling 
again with misgivings. “ Go, Lion ! go for the cows,” 
he said ; and he himself began to run, calling by the 
way, “ Co’, boss ! co’, boss ! ” as if bringing the cows 
would also bring Mr. Chatford home, with his report 
concerning the half-dollar. 

“ He won’t be there, though, for an hour or two 
yet,” he reflected. “ What ’s the use of hurrying ? I 
shall only have the longer to wait. I wonder if that 
log is just as I left it! ” For Jack had still a secret 
dread lest the unknown person who had hidden the 
treasure so many years ago should now suddenly 
return and carry it away. “ I ’ll cut over there and 
take just one peep,” he said. 

So, having started the cattle upon their homeward 
track, with Lion barking after the laggards, Jack 
leaped a fence, ran across the lot where he had been 
at work that afternoon with Mr. Pipkin and Pliin 
when the shower surprised them, and was soon stand- 
ing alone by the log in the darkening woods. The 
sticks which he had stuffed into the end of the hol- 
low trunk were all in their place. And yet it seemed 
a dream to Jack, that he had actually found a box of 
money in that old tree, — that it was there now ! He 
wanted to pull out the sticks and go in and make 
sure of his prize, but forbore to do so foolish a thing. 

“ Of course it ’s there,” thought he. “ And I ’m 
going to take care that nobody knows where it is, till 
I Ve got it safe in- my own possession ; then who can 


IN WHICH JACK COUNTS HIS CHICKENS. 


31 


say whether I found it on Mr. Chatford’s, or Squire 
Peternot’s, or Aunt Patsy’s land, if I don’t tell ? Let 
Squire Peternot claim it if he can ! ” 

Yet Jack longed to tell somebody of his discovery. 
“ 0, if I could only tell Annie Felton, and get her 
advice about it ! ” But Annie, who taught the 
summer school, and “ boarded around,” was just then 
boarding in a distant part of the district. The next 
day, however, was Saturday; then she would come 
home to her aunt’s to spend the Sunday, and he could 
impart to her his burning secret. 

Jack stayed but a minute in the woods, then, 
hurrying back, rejoined Lion, who was driving the 
cows into the lane. Arrived at the barn-yard, he 
took one of three or four pails which Mr. Pipkin had 
brought out from the pantry, and a stool from the 
shed, and sat down to do his share of the milking. 
He had always liked that part of the day’s work well 
enough before ; but now with a secret feeling of pride 
and hope he said to himself, “ Maybe I sha’ n’t always 
be obliged to do this for a living ! ” And he wondered 
how it would seem to be a gentleman and live with- 
out work. 


32 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTER Y. 

WAITING FOR THE DEACON. 

The milk was carried to the pantry and strained ; 
the candles were lighted, and the family sat in a 
pleasant circle about the kitchen table, while, without, 
the twilight darkened into night, and the crickets 
sang. There was Mr. Pipkin showing Phin how to 
braid a belly into his woodchuck-skin whiplash ; 
Mrs. Pipkin (late Miss Wansey) paring a pan of 
apples, which she held in her lap ; Moses reading the 
“ Saturday Courier,” a popular story-paper in those 
days ; little Kate, sitting on a stool, piecing a bed-quilt 
under her mother’s eye, — sewing together squares of 
different colored prints cut out from old dresses, and 
occasionally looking up to ask the maternal advice, — 
while Mrs. Chatford was doing some patch-work of a 
different sort, which certain rents in Phin’s trousers 
rendered necessary. Jack sat in the corner, silent, 
and listening for buggy-wheels. 

“ I hope you won’t go climbing over the buckles 
and hames, on to a horse’s back, in that harum- 
scarum way, another time,” said the good woman, in 
tones of mild reproof, to her younger son. 

“ ’T was beginning to rain, and I could n’t stop to 
think,” said Phin, laughing. “ Could I, Phi ? ” 

“ I should think not, by the hurry you was in to 


WAITING FOR THE DEACON. 


33 


hook my ride,” replied Mr. Pipkin, with reviving 
resentment. “ That was a mean trick ; and now jes’ 
see how I ’m payin’ ye for it ! Ye never conld ’a’ got 
a decent-lookin’ belly into this lash, in the world, if 
’twa’n’t for me.” 

“That’s ’cause you’re such a good feller, and 
know so much ! ” said Phin, who could resort to flat- 
tery when anything was to be gained by it. “ 0, look, 
Mose ! ain’t Phi doing it splendid ? It ’s going to be 
the best whiplash ever you set eyes on.” 

Mr. Pipkin’s lips tightened in a grin around his 
big front teeth, and he worked harder than ever 
drawing the strands over the taper belly, while Phin, 
leaning over the back of his chair, whispered to Jack, 
“ See what a fool I can make of him ! ” 

At that Mrs. Pipkin, who had a keen ear and a 
sharp temper, flared up. 

“ Mr. Pipkin ! ” 

“ What, Mis’ Pipkin ? ” — meekly. 

“ You ’ve worked long enough on that whiplash. 
He ’s making fun of ye ; and that ’s all the thanks 
you ’ll ever get for helping him. Take hold here and 
pare these apples while I slice ’em up.” 

“ In a minute. I can’t le’ go here jes’ now,” said 
Mr. Pipkin. 

Whereupon Mrs. Pipkin laid down her knife and 
the apple she was paring, and looked at her husband 
over the rim of the pan in perfect astonishment. 

“ Mr. Pipkin ! did you hear my request ? ” 

“ Yes, I heerd ye, but — ” 

2 * 


o 


34 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


"Mr. Pipkin/’ interrupted Mrs. Pipkin, severely, 
“ will you have the kindness to pare these apples ? 
I don’t wish to be obliged to speak again ! ” 

“ What ’s the apples fer, — sass ? ” said Mr. Pipkin, 
mildly. 

“ Pies ; and you know you ’re as fond of pies as 
anybody, Mr. Pipkin.” 

“ Wal, so I be, your pies. I declare, you do beat 
the Dutch with your apple-pies, if I do say it. 
There, Phin, I guess you can go along with the belly 
now. If it ’s for pies, I ’ll pare till the cows come 
hum ! ” 

Thus disguising his obedience to his wife’s request, 
Mr. Pipkin took the pan and the knife, and Mrs. 
Pipkin recovered from her astonishment. 

“ J ack might pare the apples and let Phi braid ! ” 
Phin complained, getting into difficulties with his 
whiplash. “ Darn this old belly ! ” And he flung it 
across the room. 

“ Phineas ! you shall go to bed if I hear any more 
such talk,” said Mrs. Chatford, as sternly as it was in 
her kind motherly nature to speak. Then looking at 
J ack in the corner, “ How happens it you are not 
reading your book to-night ? It ’s something new for 
you to be idle.” 

u 0, I don’t feel much like reading to-night,” said 
Jack, whose heart was where his treasure was. 

"He’s thinking about his half-dollar, waiting to 
know if it ’s a good one,” sneered Phin. 

* Should n’t wonder if that half-dollar had dropped 


WATTING FOR THE DEACON. 


35 

out of old Daddy Cobb’s money-box,” remarked Mr. 
Pipkin, taking a slice of apple. 

“ Mr. Pipkin ! these apples are for pies ! ” said Mrs. 
Pipkin, in a warning voice. 

“ Daddy Cobb’s money-box ! what ’s that ? ” fal- 
tered J ack, fearing he had found an owner to the coin. 

“ What ! did n’t ye never hear tell about Daddy 
Cobb’s diggin’ for a chist o’ treasure ? Thought every- 
body ’d heerd o’ that. There ’s some kind o’ magic 
about it, hanged if I can explain jest what. The 
chist has a habit o’ shiftin’ its hidin’ -place in the 
ground, so that though Daddy ’s a’most got holt on ’t 
five or six times, it has alters slipped away from him 
in the most onaccountable and aggravatin’ manner. 
He has a way o’ findin’ where it is, by some hocus- 
pocus, hazel-wands for one thing ; then he goes with 
his party of diggers at night, — for there ’s two or 
three more fools big as him, — and they make a circle 
round the place, and one reads the Bible and holds 
the lantern while the rest dig, and if nobody speaks 
or does anything to break the charm, there ’s a chance 
’at they may git the treasure. Once Daddy says 
they had actooally got a holt on ’t, — a big, square 
iron chist, — but jest ’s they was liftin’ on ’t out he 
jammed his finger, and said ‘ Oh ! ’ and by hokey ! if 
it did n’t disappear right afore their face an’ eyes 
quicker ’n a flash o’ lightnin’ ! ” 

Jack listened intently to this story. He did not 
believe that his treasure was the one Daddy Cobb 
had been digging for so long, but might it not elude 
his grasp in the same way ? 


36 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTER VI. 

“ ABOUT THAT HALF-DOLLAR.” 

At every sound of wheels J ack started ; and more 
than once he imagined he heard a wagon stop at the 
gate. ' Still no deacon ; would he never return ? Jack 
watched the clock, and thought he had never seen 
the pointers move so slowly. 

Three or four times he went to the door to listen ; 
and at last he walked down to the gate. It was 
bright, still moonlight, only the crickets and katydids 
were singing, and now and then an owl hooted in the 
woods or a raccoon cried. 

“ There’s a buggy coming ! ” exclaimed Jack. He 
could hear it in the distance ; he could see it dimly 
coming down the moonlit road. “ It ’s Mr. Chatford ! ” 
He knew the deacon’s peculiar “ Ca dep ! ” (get up) 
to the horse. 

“ That you, Jack ? ” said the deacon, driving in. 

“ Yes ; thought I ’d come down and shut the gate 
after you,” replied Jack. 

Mr. Chatford stopped at the house, and Jack ran 
to help him take out some bundles. Then the deacon 
drove on to the barn, and Jack hurried after him. 
Still not a word about the half-dollar. 

“You can go into the house; I’ll take care of 
Dolly,” said Jack. 


ABOUT THAT HALF-DOLLAR.’ 


37 


“ I ’ll help ; ’t won’t take but a minute,” said Mr. 
Chatford. “ I ’ve got bad news for you.” 

“ Have you ? ” said Jack, with sudden faintness of 
heart. “ What ? ” 

“ For you and Lion,” added the deacon. “ Duffer ’s 
got another dog. He made his brags of him to-night 
Said he could whip any dog in seven counties.” 

“ He ’d better not let him tackle Lion ! ” said Jack. 

“ I told him I hoped he would n’t kill sheep, as his 
other dog did. Take her out of the shafts ; we ’ll run 
the buggy in by hand.” 

The broad door of the horse-barn stood open. Jack 
led the mare up into the bright square of moonshine 
which lay on the dusty floor. There the harness was 
quickly taken off. Hot a word yet concerning the 
half-dollar, which Jack was ashamed to appear anxious 
about, and which he began to think Mr. Chatford, with 
characteristic absent-mindedness, had forgotten. 

“ By the way, I ’ve good news for you ! ” suddenly 
exclaimed the deacon. 

J ack’s heart bounded. “ Have you ? ” 

“I saw Annie over at the Basin. She wants to 
go home to her folks to-morrow. Would you like to 
drive her over ? She spoke of it.” 

“ And stay till Monday ? ” said Jack, to whom this 
would indeed have been good news at another time. 

“ Yes ; start early, and get back Monday morning 
in time for her to begin school. Then she won’t go 
home again till her summer term is out.” 

“ Maybe — I ’d better — wait and go then.” Jack 


38 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


felt the importance of early securing his treasure, and, 
having set apart Sunday afternoon for that task (“ a 
deed of necessity,” he called it to his conscience), he 
saw no way but to postpone the long-anticipated 
happiness of a ride and visit with his dear friend. 
Yet what if the treasure were no treasure ? 

“ As you please,” said the deacon, a little surprised 
at Jack’s choice. “ Moses will be glad enough to go. 
See that she has plenty of hay in the rack, and don’t 
tie the halter so short as you do sometimes. Now 
give me a push here,” — taking up the buggy-shafts. 

“ Oh ! ” said Jack, as if he had just thought of 
something, — “ I was going to ask you — about that 
half-dollar ? ” 

“ I did n’t think on ’t, said Mr. Chatford, standing 
and holding the shafts while Jack went behind, — 

“ not till I ’d got started for home. Then I put my 
hand in my pocket for something, and found your 
half-dollar. Help me in with the buggy, and then 
I’ll tell you.” 

The deacon drew in the shafts, Jack pushed behind, 
and the buggy went rattling and bounding up into its 
place. 

“ Did you go back ? ” asked Jack, out of breath, — 
not altogether from the effort he had just made. 

The deacon deliberately walked out of the barn, * 
and carefully shut and fastened the door ; then, while 
on the way to the house, he explained. 

“ I had paid for my purchases out of my pocket- 
book, or I should have found that half-dollar before. 


ABOUT THAT HALF-DOLLAR . 1 


39 


However, as I had promised you, I whipped about 
and drove back to the goldsmith’s. He was just 
shutting up shop. I told him what I wanted. He 
went behind his counter, lit a lamp, looked at your 
half-dollar, cut into it, and then flung it into his 
drawer.” 

“ Kept it ! ” gasped out Jack. 

“ Yes ; ’t was as good a half-dollar as ever came 
from the mint, he said. He gave me another in its 
place.” 

Jack could not utter a word in reply to this 
announcement, which, notwithstanding his utmost 
hopes, astonished and overjoyed him beyond measure. 
As soon as he had recovered a little of his breath and 
self-possession, he grasped the deacon’s arm, and was 
on the point of exclaiming, “ 0 Mr. Chatford ! I have 
found a trunk full of just such half-dollars as that ! ” 
— for he felt that he must tell his joy to some one, 
and to whom else should he go ? But already the 
deacon’s other hand was on the latch of the kitchen- 
door, which he opened; and there sat the family 
round the table within. 

“ What is it, my boy ? ” said Mr. Chatford, as Jack 
shrank back and remained silent. “ Oh ! you want 
your half-dollar. Of course ! ” putting his hand into 
his pocket. 

“ I don’t care anything about that ,” said Jack. He 
took it, nevertheless, — a bright, clean half-dollar in 
place of the scratched and tarnished coin he had given 
Mr. Chatford that afternoon. 


40 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


Mr. Chatford stood holding the door open. 

" Ain’t you coming in ? ” 

" No, sir, — not just yet.” 

Jack felt that he must be alone with his great, joy- 
ful, throbbing thoughts for a little while ; and he wan- 
dered away in the moonlit night. 


HOW JACK WENT FOR HIS TREASURE. 


41 


CHAPTER VII. 

HOW JACK WENT FOR HIS TREASURE. 

In the forenoon of the following day Annie Felton 
dismissed her little school half an hour earlier than 
she was accustomed to do, and went to her Aunt 
Chatford’s house, to dine with her relatives and pre- 
pare for the long afternoon’s ride. She was greatly 
surprised when told that Jack was not to accompany 
her. 

“ Did Uncle Chatford speak to him about it ? ” she 
inquired of her aunt. 

“ Yes, but for some reason he didn’t seem inclined 
to go. That just suited Moses ; he was glad enough 
of the chance.” 

“Jack has found a half-dollar, and it has just 
about turned his head,” remarked Mrs. Pipkin. 

“ A half-dollar ? ” repeated Annie, wondering if 
such a trifle could indeed have so affected her young 
friend. No, she could not believe it. Then why 
had he willingly let slip an opportunity which she 
had thought he would be eager to seize ? 

Soon the men and boys came in to dinner, — Moses 
in high spirits, and with his Sunday clothes on ; 
Jack jealous and unhappy. 

“ Why did n’t I leave that till another Sunday ? or 
get it one of these moonlight nights ? ” he said to 


42 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


himself ; and he almost cursed the money which had 
caused him to decline so pure and sweet a pleasure. 

The manner in which Annie met him did not 
relieve his bitterness of heart. She was kind to him, 
— as indeed she always was to everybody, — hut he 
could see plainly that she felt hurt and disappointed. 
Both were silent at the dinner-table ; and he had no 
opportunity to speak a word to her privately until 
she came out to get into the buggy, which he had 
brought to the door. 

“ I wish I was going ! ” he said to her, with tears 
in his eyes. 

“ Why did n’t you wish that before ? ” she replied 
with a forgiving smile. “ You could have gone.” 

“Yes — only — I could n’t ! I ’ll tell you all 
about it some time. I can’t now. It ’s a great se- 
cret. But don’t whisper it. I — I ought not to have 
said a word about it, since I ’ve no chance now to tell 
you everything ; but I could n’t bear to have you go 
off thinking I did n’t care for your invitation.” 

0, what a beautiful look beamed upon him from 
her sympathizing blue eyes ! She reached him her 
hand. 

“ I trust you, J ack ! ” 

“ Do you ? ” he cried, eagerly, a bright smile flash- 
ing through his tears. 

“Good by. There comes Moses.” And Annie 
made room for her cousin in the buggy. 

All the family came out to see them off, and Jack 
went to open the gate for them. Annie gave him a 


HOW JACK WENT FOR HIS TREASURE. 


43 



smile, and moved her lips with some sweet, inaudible 
meaning as she passed him ; but Moses, good fellow 
though he was, cast upon him a look of contempt, and 
flourished his whip, driving proudly away beside his 
beautiful cousin. 

Jack, much as he thought of his hidden treasure, 
now for the first time in his life felt the utter worth- 
lessness of money compared with the good-will and 


44 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


companionship of those we love, — a truth which it 
takes some of us all our lives to discover. 

The sight of Annie Felton always stirred the nobler 
part of his nature ; and now, going back to the house, 
he began to blame himself for having taken hitherto 
a purely selfish view of his treasure. 

“ All I ’ve thought of has been just the good it was 
going to do me ! ” And he said to himself that he 
didn’t deserve the good fortune that had befallen 
him. Now to bestow it all upon her he felt would 
be his greatest happiness. 

“ And give some to you, precious little Kate ! ” was 
his second thought, as the gay little creature came 
running with Lion to meet him. In like manner his 
benevolence overflowed to all, — even to sharp-tongued 
Mrs. Pipkin, — after Annie Felton had stirred the 
fountain. 

Twenty-four hours seemed long to wait. But the 
time for securing his treasure at last came round. 
He walked to church in the morning with Phin and 
Mr. Pipkin, but, without saying a word to anybody 
of his intentions, he at noon came home alone across 
the fields. He found, as he expected, Mrs. Chatford 
keeping house. 

“Why, Jack ! ” said she, “ why did n’t you stay to 
Sunday school and the afternoon services ? ” 

“ Don’t you want to go this afternoon ? ” replied 
Jack, evasively. “ There will be some of the neigh- 
bors riding by, who will carry you. I ’ll take care of 
the house.” 


HOW JACK WENT FOR HIS TREASURE. 45 

“You are very kind to think of me,” she said. 
“ But I don’t think of going. You ’d better eat your 
luncheon, and go right hack.” 

Jack longed to tell her everything on the spot, hut 
feared she might disapprove of his going to bring 
home the treasure on the Sabbath. “ After all ’s over, 
then she’ll say I did right,” thought he. So he 
remarked, carelessly, “ There ’s a new minister to-day; 
I don’t like him very well. I guess I ’ll go over and 
see Aunt Patsy a little while this afternoon.” 

“ If you do, I ’ll send a loaf of bread and one of the 
pies we baked yesterday,” said Mrs. Chatford. 

This was what Jack expected ; and it gave him an 
excuse for carrying a basket. He took off his Sunday 
clothes, putting on an every-day suit in their place, 
lunched, and soon after started with Lion. He made 
a brief visit to the poor woman, and then set out for 
home by way of the woods. 

On the edge of Aunt Patsy’s wood-lot he paused 
and looked carefully all about him. Not a human 
being was in sight. A Sabbath stillness reigned over 
all the sunlit fields and shadowy woods. There were 
Squire Peternot’s cattle feeding quietly in the pasture. 
A hawk was sailing silently high overhead. As he 
turned and walked on, two or three squirrels, gray 
and black, ran along the ground, disappearing around 
the trunks of trees to reappear in the rustling tops, 
and it was all he could do to keep Lion still. 

“ Look here, old fellow ! ” said he, “ remember, you 
are not to bark to-day ! ” 


46 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


From Aunt Patsy’s wood-lot he entered the squire’s, 
stepping over a dilapidated fence of poles and brush. 
The snapping of the decayed branches broke the 
silence; then, as he listened, he heard, far off, the 
bells for the afternoon service begin to ring. It was 
a strange sound, in that wildwood solitude, so shadowy 
and cool, and full of the fresh odors of moss and 
fern. 

The bells were still ringing, and their faint, slow, 
solemn toll filled Jack’s heart with an indefinable 
feeling of guilt as he reached the log where his treas- 
ure was, and reflected upon the very worldly business 
that brought him there. 

He did not reflect long, — he was too eager for the 
exciting work before him. Having walked on to the 
farther edge of the woods, to see that nobody was 
approaching from that direction, he returned, and 
began to pull out the sticks which he had stuffed 
into the end of the log. 

“ Everything ’s just as I left it, so far,” thought he. 
“ Wonder if my money-chest will dodge a fellow, like 
old Daddy Cobb’s ! ” 

The opening clear, he put on an old brown frock 
which he had brought in the basket, laid his hat and 
coat on the ground, told Lion to watch them, and 
entered the log headforemost. The treasure, too, was 
where he had left it. His body stopped the cavity 
so that he could see nothing in its depths, but his 
groping hand felt the little trunk and the coin that 
had fallen out of its broken end. 


HOW JACK WENT FOR HIS TREASURE. 47 

“ I'll take this loose money out of the way first,” 
thought he ; “ then maybe I can move the trunk.” 

He had nothing but his pockets to put the coin 
into, and those his frock covered. “ I ’ll find some- 
thing better,” thought he. Backing out of the log, 
he pulled off his shoes, and re-entered with one of 
them in his hand. This he filled with all the half- 
dollars he could find about the end of the trunk, 
which he then tried to move. 

“ It ’s stuck in a heap of rotten stuff here,” he 
muttered, “ and I shall break it more if I pull hard 
on it.” So he resolved to empty it where it was. 

He was half-way out of the log, bringing after him 
his shoe freighted with coin, when he was startled by 
a sudden bark from Lion. Leaving his shoe, he tum- 
bled himself out upon the ground in fearful haste, to 
find a stray calf in the bushes the innocent cause of 
alarm. For keeping guafd too faithfully poor Lion 
got a box on the ear. 

After waiting awhile, to see if anything more dan- 
gerous than the calf was nigh, Jack brought out his 
shoe, poured its rattling contents into the basket, 
which he covered with his coat, and then went back 
into the log. This time he took both shoes in with 
him, which he filled, and emptied one after the other 
into the basket. Another journey, another, and still 
another, and he began to think there was more coin 
than he could carry home. 

“I can get it away from here, though, so nobody can 
tell on whose land I found it,” — which he seemed 


48 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


to think a very important point to gain. “ 1 11 leave 
the little trunk where it is, — only take out the 
money.” 

He had gone into the log for the last time, and got 
the last of the money, filling both shoes quite full, 
and was bringing them out with him, — lie had actu- 
ally got them out, leaving one at the entrance to the 
opening, and holding the other in his hands, — when 
Lion, notwithstanding his previous punishment, ut- 
tered a very low, suppressed growl. 

Jack looked up from under his tumbled hair, and 
there, not three yards distant, with his horn-headed 
cane, regarding with grim amazement the boy and 
hia shoes full of coin, stood Squire Peternot! 


JACK AND THE SQUIRE. 


49 


CHAPTER VIII. 

JACK AND THE SQUIRE. 

Fearing a raid upon his melon-patch, which bad 
hoys in the neighborhood were beginning to molest, 
the squire had stayed at home to watch it that Sun- 
day afternoon. He had seen Jack with his dog and 
basket cross the fields, go to Aunt Patsy’s house, and 
afterwards enter the woods ; and, feeling the interest 
of a stern moral censor in the conduct of all Sabbath- 
breaking boys, he had followed him to the hollow log. 
Lion’s indiscreet barking had at first served to guide 
him to the spot ; and afterwards his equally unfortu- 
nate silence, in consequence of the punishment he 
had suffered for that offence, favored the old man’s 
stealthy approach. 

To have the faintest idea of the emotions that agi- 
tated the squire at sight of Jack and the shoes full 
of coin, — the wrath, the surprise, the avarice, — one 
must have seen him as he stood there, or have heard 
Jack (as I have heard him many times) describe the 
grim and frowning figure that met his eyes. 

“ What ’s this, what ’s this, eh ? ” cried Peternot, 
taking a stride forwards. “ Money ! on my land ! ” 
and the gray eyes glittered. “ Ha ! ha ! This, then, 
is the meaning of all that talk about treasure-trove 
the other day!” 

3 


I> 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


50 



“ BOY ! ARE YOU A ROBBER ? 


Jack felt so stunned for the moment that he did 
not attempt to speak, or even to rise. He sat on the 
ground, guarding his shoes, keeping one hand on the 
rim of the basket, and looking up steadily at the 
squire with eyes full of mingled fear and defiance. 

“ So, so ! What have you got in your basket ? ” 
And the stiff-jointed old man stooped to remove the 
coat which Jack had taken the precaution to spread 
over it each time when he entered the log. 


JACK AND THE SQUIRE. 


51 


"Here! you just leave that alone!” exclaimed 
Jack, while Lion gave a fierce growl. The squire 
dropped the garment instantly, but he had pulled it 
far enough from the basket to expose its surprising 
contents. 

"Boy !” said he, in still greater amazement, "are 
you a robber ? ” 

" Like enough I am,” muttered J ack, quite willing 
that he should take that view of the case. 

“ Boy ! ” repeated Peternot, with awful severity, 
" you ’ve stolen this money, and it ’s my duty to have 
you arrested. I am a justice of the peace.” Jack 
changed countenance at that. 

" I ’ve stolen it about as much as I stole Mr. Chat- 
ford’s horse and buggy once, which you were so sure 
of, when they were all the while standing under the 
shed at the Basin, just where Mr. Chatford left them.” 

" Then how did you come by so much money ? ” 

"If you must know, I found it in this log,” said 
Jack, with a sudden determination to tell the plain 
truth, and stand or fall by it. 

" How do I know but what you stole it and hid it 
here, so you could pretend you ’d found it ? ” 

Jack was glad now that he had not removed the 
trunk. 

" If you can’t see by the look of this silver that 
it ’s been hid away here longer than I ’ve been in the 
town,” he replied, " you can just go into the log and 
find the trunk, that you ’ll say has been there about 
as many years as I am old, that ’s all ! ” 


52 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ Is there any more money in there ? ” 

Jack was willing the squire should think there 
might be, nor was he sure there were not a few pieces 
in the rubbish about the trunk ; so he said, “ It 
belongs to me, if there is.” 

“ Belongs to you ? You little scapegrace ! By 
what right ? ” 

“ It belongs to me, — that is,” added Jack, “ if the 
real owner does n’t turn up, — because I found it.” 

“ Found it, on my land ! You haven’t got it off 
from my land yet, and I forbid your taking it off. 
What ’s left in the log you have n’t even had in your 
possession. I want nothing but what ’s my own by 
a plain interpretation of law ; but the law ’s with me 
in this. If you had once fairly got the coin away 
without my knowledge, there might have been some 
question about it ; but that you ’ve been caught tres- 
passing, and that you ’ve no right to take anything 
from my premises in my presence and against my 
express orders, is common sense as well as common 
law.” 

Fire and tears rushed into poor Jack’s eyes. 

“And do you mean to say you’ll take all this 
money away from me ? ” 

w Sartin, I do, since it don’t belong to you, not a 
dollar on fc. I ’ll make ye a reasonable reward, 
however, if you give it up without making me any 
unnecessary trouble.” 

“ What do you call a reasonable reward ? Half ?” 

“ Half ! of all that money ! ” exclaimed the squire, 


JACK AND THE SQUIRE. 


53 


in huge astonishment. “ Preposterous S 1 11 give ye 
more than liberal pay for your trouble. 1 11 give ye 
five dollars.” 

Thereupon grief and fury and fierce contempt burst 
from the soul of Jack. All the softening influences 
which had been at work upon him for the past few 
months were forgotten in a moment ; he was the 
vicious, desperate, profane little canal-driver once 
more. Looking up through tears of rage at the 
startled squire, he shouted, “ Go to thunder, you 
hoary old villain ! ” and followed up this charge with 
a volley of blasphemy and abuse, which lasted for at 
least a minute. By that time the squire had recov- 
ered his self-possession ; so, in a measure, had Jack ; 
and the hurricane of passion that had swept every- 
thing before it was followed by a lull of sullen hate 
and despair. 

“ That ’s the kind of boy you are, is it ? after all 
your living among Christian people ! ” said the old 
man, with a sort of grim satisfaction. 

“ It ’s the kind of boy I was, and it ’s the kind of 
boy such Christians as you are will make me again, 
if I let you!” said Jack, kindling once more. “I 
did n't mean to swear, but I forgot myself. I have 
n’t before, since the first Sunday after I came off 
from the canal. That ’s because I have been living 
among Christians, — people who try to encourage a 
fellow and help him, by bringing out the good that ’s 
in him, instead of grinding him down, and keeping 
him down, by telling him how bad he ’s always been 


54 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


and always will be, — like the kind of Christian you 
are!” 

“ Talk to me about being a Christian, you profane 
Sabbath-breaker ! ” said Peternot, choking with indig- 
nation. 

“ A Sabbath-breaker, am I ? And what are you ? 
I own up to what brought me here to-day, but what 
brought you here ? What keeps you here ? Why 
ain’t you at church ? Guess you consider your 
worldly interests worth looking after a little, if ’t is 
Sunday, — don’t you?” 

“ Come, come, boy ! that kind of talk won’t help 
matters.” 

“ Then le’s stop it,” said Jack. “ But if you come 
here on Sunday and try to get my money away from 
me, and accuse me of Sabbath-breaking because I 
mean to keep it, I shall have just a word to say back, 
you better believe ! ” And, still sitting on the ground, 
Jack held his shoes between his legs, and guarded 
one side of the basket, while Lion guarded the other. 

“ What do you want of so much money, — a boy 
like you ? ” said the squire, adopting a more concil- 
iatory tone. 

“ What do you want of it, — a man like you ? 
without a child in the world, since you drove your 
only son away from home by your hard treatment, 
and he died a drunkard and a gambler ! ” 

The old man fairly staggered backward at this 
cruel blow, and uttered a suppressed groan. 

“ It was mean in me to say that,” added Jack, 


JACK AND THE SQUIRE. 


55 


relenting ; “ I did n’t mean to ; but you drove me to 
it. What do you want of more money than you ’ve 
got already ? — that’s what I meant to ask. You’re 
a rich man now. You ’ve ten times as much as you 
need ; what do you want of more ? To carry into 
the next world with ye ? one would think so, — an 
old man like you ! ” 

“ Boy ! ” said the trembling Peternot, “ you don’t 
know what you ’re talking about ! ” 

“Yes, I do; I’m talking just what a good many 
other folks talk, only not to your face. They say, 
‘ There ’s old Squire Peternot, seventy years old, with 
one foot almost in the grave, — rich enough in all 
conscience, — don’t use even the interest on what 
money he has, but lays it up, lays it up, — lives 
meanly as the poorest farmer in town, — never gives 
a dollar, except when he can’t help it, and then you ’d 
think it hurt him like pulling his teeth, — and yet 
there he is, trying to get Aunt Patsy’s little house 
and lot away from her, — making tight bargains, 
screwing his workmen’s wages down to the lowest 
notch ’ ; that ’s what I ’ve heard, every word of it, and 
you know that every word of it is true ! ” 

“ I have my own ideas about property,” said the 
squire ; “ and no man — no prudent man — likes to 
squander what’s his own.” 

“ And so you, with all your wealth, come and grab 
this money, which is all I have in the world, and 
offer me five dollars to give it up to you ! You arc 
a prudent man ! I say squander ! ” 


56 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ I ’ll give you twenty dollars of it, — and that ’s 
liberal, I ’m sure,” said Peternot, a good deal shaken 
by what Jack had said, but unable, from long habit, 
to take his hand from any worldly goods that it 
chanced to cover. 

“ Twenty dollars ! ” laughed Jack, with .scornful 
defiance. “I don’t make bargains on Sunday.” 

This cool sarcasm caused the worthy Peternot to 
wince as at the taste of some bitter medicine. “ I 
don’t bargain on the Lord’s day, neither. But I see 
the necessity of coming to some sort of terms with 
you.” 

“ Very well ; then you just walk off and leave me 
and my dog to take care of this money; those are 
the only terms you can come to with me.” 

“ But what do you propose to do, if I don’t walk 
off?” 

“ Stay here, — Lion and I, — and hang on to our 
treasure-trove. Your nephew, who knows so much 
about law, advised me to keep possession, — to fight 
for it, — and I will.” 

“ And do you think I ’m going to give up to you, 
you renegade ? ” cried the squire. He moved to lay 
his hand on the basket ; but there was something in 
Lion’s growl he did n’t like. “ 1 11 beat that beast’s 
brains out, if he offers to touch me ! ” he exclaimed, 
grasping his cane menacingly. 

“ I advise you not to try that little thing,” said 
J ack. “ If you should miss your stroke, where would 
you be the next minute ? ” 


JACK AND THE SQUIRE. 57 

The squire thought of that. His tone changed 
slightly. 

“ I don’t leave this spot till I git possession of that 
money !” 

“All right, Squire. Sit down, — you’d better. 
You’ll have some time to stop, I guess. Have a 
peach ? ” And the audacious little wretch took one 
out of his coat-pocket. “We shall need refreshments 
before we get through !” As Peternot indignantly 
declined the proffered fruit. Jack quietly broke it 
open, and ate, with a relish, the rich yellow pulp. 
The old man accepted the invitation to sit down, 
however, and reposed his stiff old limbs on the end of 
the hollow log, not clearly foreseeing how this little 
adventure was to end. 


58 


A CHANCE FOB HIMSELF. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE SQUIRE’S PERPLEXITY AND JACK’S STRATAGEM. 

A little calm reflection opened the squire’s mind 
to a ray of light which would certainly have dawned 
upon it before, had not his wits been clouded by 
passion. “ Boy ! ” he suddenly exclaimed, “ I believe 
every dollar of that money is bogus.” 

“ Then what ’s the use of making a row over it ? ” 
was the boy’s cool retort. 

“It’s the business of a magistrate to look after 
counterfeiters and counterfeit money,” said Peternot. 
But at the same time lie thought, “ He has satisfied 
himself that it ain't counterfeit ; his whole conduct 
shows it.” And the avaricious old man still laid 
siege to the basket. 

Half an hour passed, during which time very little 
was said. J ack took out his knife and began to whit- 
tle a stick; perhaps he was not unwilling to show 
the squire that he was armed. He also put on his 
coat, and then his shoes, after emptying their con- 
tents into the basket. 

Peternot grew more and more impatient, as he saw 
the afternoon gliding away. Another half-hour, and 
the situation still remained unchanged. “ I may set 
here till night,” thought he, “ and all night, and all 
day to-morrow, fur ’s I know, — but what ’s the use ? 


THE SQUIRE’S PERPLEXITY. 


59 


He ’ll stick as long as I do. He ’s tough ; he can 
stand anything ; ye can’t starve a canal-driver. 
Sakes ! ” he exclaimed, half aloud, suddenly putting 
his hand into his pocket, remembering that the key 
of his kitchen door was there. 

On leaving home he had carefully made fast all 
the doors and windows of his house, — his wife and 
nephew having gone to meeting that afternoon ; and 
now, should they return before he did, they would 
find themselves locked out ! 

Still the old man’s cupidity would not suffer him 
to raise the siege. 

He was taken by a fit of coughing ; and, fearing 
to catch cold by sitting on the damp log, he got up 
and walked about, — frowning and striking his cane 
upon the ground in huge dissatisfaction and disgust. 
“ You ’re the most obstinate, unreasonable boy I ever 
see ! ” he exclaimed angrily. 

“ Am I ? ” laughed Jack. “ You have n’t begun to 
see how obstinate I am. Wonder what you ’ll think 
to-morrow at this time ? or the next day ? ” And 
what, he might have added, would the wife and 
nephew think ? 

“ Hush ! ” whispered the old man. “ What boys 
are those ? ” 

There was a crackling of sticks in a not very dis- 
tant part of the woods, occasioned by a gang of four 
or five boys climbing Peternot’s brush fence. Jack 
jumped upon the log and looked. 

“ It ’s the Huswick tribe,” said he. “ There ’s 


60 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


Dock, there ’s Hank, there ’s Cub, — there they all 
are, going over your fence like a flock of sheep ! ” 

“ The Huswicks, Cub and Dock, — Hank with 
’em!” ejaculated the squire, in great excitement. 
“ They ’re the wust set of boys in town ! ” 

“ Yes, and they’re putting straight towards your 
house,” observed Jack. 

“ They ’re after my melons ! ” said Peternot, bran- 
dishing his cane. “ The rogues ! I ’ll larn ’em ! ” 
With a limping stride he started in pursuit, but 
turned back immediately. “ Promise me you ’ll stay 
here ! ” 

Jack could n’t help laughing at the old man’s sim- 
plicity. “ Do you think I ’m such a fool as to make 
that promise ? Or even if I should, would you trust 
me to keep it ? Come ! ” cried Jack, “ you must have 
a better opinion of me than you pretend.” 

“ I know you have some good traits — the rogues 
will destroy all my melons — if I could borrow your 
dog — leave your basket and go with me — we ’ll 
settle our diffikilty when we come back,” said the 
agitated squire. 

“ I ’ll take care of my basket ; you can look after 
your melons,” retorted Jack. 

“ I ’d as lives have a passel o’ pigs in my melon- 
patch ! ” cried Peternot, striding to and fro. “ Boy ! 
I ’m sure this money is bogus ! — I wish I had called 
to ’em ’fore they got out o’ hearin’ ! ” 

“ Why did n’t ye ? ” asked Jack. 

“ That might ’a’ led ’em to come here, and we don’t 


THE SQUIRE’S PERPLEXITY. 


61 


want anybody by the name o’ Huswick to have a 
hand in this business. But my melons ! — Boy, be 
reasonable ! ” 

“Be reasonable yourself, Squire Peternot ! You’re 
sure this money is bogus ; then why don’t you leave 
it and go for your melons ? ” 

“ I ain't sure,” replied the squire. “ But you ’re 
sure it ’s good money ; I see that, and you ’re no fool.” 

“ Thank ye, sir,” said J ack, politely. And, seeing 
that the old man ’s cupidity made him ready to 
believe almost anything, he added, “ Now look here ! 
If I ’ll give you what money there is in the basket, 
will you be satisfied ? ” 

Peternot started. “ Satisfied ? Sartin — I can’t 
tell — explain ! ” 

“ Will you take this, and leave me what there is 
still in the log? That’s what I mean,” said Jack, 
with an air of candor. 

Peternot, astonished by this strange proposition, 
but afraid of being cheated out of a few dollars, 
asked, “ How much is there in the log ? ” at the same 
time stooping with difficulty and peeping into the 
cavity. 

“ That ’s my risk. Come, is it a bargain ? ” 

“ I thought you did n’t make bargains on the 
Sabbath-day ! ” 

“Well, I don’t,” laughed Jack, “unless some good 
man sets me the example. I ’m only a boy, — it ’s 
easy to corrupt me.” 

“ Corrupt you ! you sassy, profane — ” 


62 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ Sabbath-breaker,” suggested Jack, as Peternot 
hesitated for a word bad enough. “ What do you say 
to my offer ? ” 

“ I say, if there *s money in the log, it belongs to 
me, the same as this belongs to me.” And the squire, 
impressed by the importance of having some accurate 
knowledge on that point, vigorously thrust in his cane. 

“ Your stick can’t give ye much information,” said 
Jack. “ You ’ll have to go in yourself.” 

“ I ’m going in myself ! ” exclaimed the squire, 
sharply. “Move out of my way here.” 

Jack readily made room for him, tickled to the 
heart's core at the thought of the stiff-jointed old 
man’s going into the log. 

“ Grin, will ye ? ” said Peternot. “ I s’pose you 
think the minute I ’m in there you ’ll start to run 
with your basket. But you can’t run fur with that 
weight to carry ; I shall ketch ye ! ” 

He leaned his cane by the log, laid his hat beside 
it, and put his head and one arm into the cavity. 
Then he put in his shoulders and both arms. “ I can 
hear ye, if ye stir to move ! ” he cried from the hollow 
depths, which muffled his voice ; and in his body 
went, leaving only the long Peternot legs sticking out. 

Jack was convulsed with laughter. But all at once 
the idea occurred to him that practical advantage 
might be taken of the squire’s ludicrous situation 
Up he jumped, and seizing the largest of the sticks 
with which he had previously stopped the mouth of 
the log, began to thrust them in after the squire. 


JACK’S STRATAGEM. 


63 


"Here! oh! oh! murder!” cried the voice, now 
more muffled than ever, while the old man struggled 
violently to get out. “ Oh ! oh ! ” 

"Good by!” screamed Jack, holding him, and 
thrusting in more sticks. " You may have what ’s 
in the log, and I ’ll take the basket. ” 



PETERNOT IN THE HOLLOW LOG. 


« Help ! ho ! I ’m killed ! ” said the voice, growing 
fainter and fainter. 


64 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ And buried ! ” Jack yelled back, laughing with 
wild excitement. “ But you kick well, for all that ! ” 
And in went more rubbish about the old man’s heels. 
“ How do ye like your bargain ? You ’ll have plenty 
of time to count your dollars before I send Pipkin 
over to help you out.” 

And, having got the old man wedged so tightly 
into the log that he could not even kick, Jack, 
inspired with extraordinary strength for the occasion, 
caught up his basket of coin and started to run, 
followed by Lion. 


THE HUSWICK TRIBE.’ 


65 


CHAPTER X. 

“ THE HUSWICK TRIBE.” 

Running quickly behind walls and fences, the 
Huswick boys made a rapid raid upon Peternot’s 
melon-patch, and left it loaded with spoils. 

“ Say, Dock ! ” said Hank (nickname for Henry), 
skulking behind some bushes, “ le’s put for Chatford’s 
orchard, and scatter rines by the way, so if we ’re 
tracked the old man ’ll think ’t was the deacon’s boys 
hooked his melons.” 

“Go ahead!” said Dock (nickname for Jehosha- 
phat), carrying two fine ripe melons on his left arm 
while he dug into one of them with a jack-knife in 
his right hand. “ Stoop, and keep clus to the fence ! ” 

“ No danger, old man ’s gone to meetin’,” said Cub, 
whose real name was Richard, — his odd shape (he 
was ludicrously short and fat) having probably sug- 
gested the nickname. 

“ Me an’ Cub can go without stoopin’,” giggled 
Hod, the youngest (christened Horace). “ See Hank ! 
he looks like a well-sweep ! ” 

And indeed the second of the boys, who was as 
wonderfully tall and lank as Cub was short and 
thick, bore no slight resemblance to that ornament of 
country door-yards. 

“ Hanged if one o’ mine ain’t a green one ! ” ex- 


66 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


claimed Tug (short for Dwight), dashing to the 
ground a large watermelon, the sight of which in 
ruins would have made old Peternot’s heart ache. 

“ Guess we made a clean sweep of all the ripe 
ones,” said Cub. “No, you don’t!” as Tug offered 
to relieve him of one of his three. “ I never had my 
fill o’ melons yit, though I ’ve ” — cramming his 
mouth while he continued to talk — “ been in the 
squire’s patch much as once afore now.” 

“ You never had your fill of anything, I believe, 
Cub ! ” said Hod, with his usual giggle. “ Remem- 
ber when we went there in the night last year ? ” 

“ Night ’s no time to go for melons,” said Cub. 
“Ye can’t tell a ripe one ’thout cuttin’ into ’t.” 

“ Yes, ye can,” said Tug ; “ smell on ’t. That ’s the 
best way to tell a'mushmelon.” 

“ Cub ’s terrible petic’lar about slashin’ the ol’ man’s 
whoppers, all to once,” said Horace. 

“ Of course, for if we cut a green one we sha’ n’t 
find it ripe next time we go,” Cub explained. “Jest 
look ! we ’re makin’ a string o’ rines all the way from 
Peternot’s to the deacon’s orchard ! ” 

“ There now, boys,” said Hank, “ throw what rines 
ye got down here by the brook, an’ stop eatin’ till we 
git to the woods.” 

Their course had been westward, until they reached 
the orchard. They now took the line of stone-wall 
which divided the squire’s land from the deacon’s, 
and which led northward to the corner of Peternot’s 
wood-lot, — Hank following Dock, Cub following 


THE HUSWICK TRIBE. 1 


67 


Hank, Tug after Cub, and Hod bringing up the rear. 
In this order they entered the woods, and were 
hastening to find a secluded spot where they could 
sit and enjoy their melons, when suddenly Dock 
stopped. 

“Thought I heard somebody,” he said to Hank, 
coming up. 

“ So did I. Lay low, boys ! Git behind this log ! ” 

Down went boys and melons in a heap, each of 
the brothers, as he arrived, tumbling himself and his 
load with the rest. There they lay, only Hank’s 
long, crane-like neck being stretched up over the log 
to reconnoitre ; but presently even he thought it time 
to duck, and threw himself flat upon the ground with 
the rest. 

“ Keep dark ! ” he whispered ; “ it ’s that J ack 
Hazard, that lives to the deacon’s ! him an’ his big 
dog ! ” 

J ack indeed it was, who had been too intently occu- 
pied in fastening Peternot into the log to notice the 
approach of the Huswick boys. He had thought of 
them, to be sure, but had supposed they would return 
through the woods as they went. 

He was now running as fast as he could with his 
basket of treasure, directing his course towards the 
orchard, but keeping a little to the right in order to 
reach a low length of fence, over which he intended 
to climb, and then betake himself to the smoother 
ground of the pasture. A log lay in his way. Lion, 
growling, drew back from it — too late. Jack, in his 


68 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


headlong haste, sprang upon it, and leaped down on 
the other side, alighting on a frightful heap of legs 
and heads and watermelons. He jumped on Hank, 
tripped against Cub, and, falling, spilt his basket of 
rattling coin all over Tug and Dock and Hod. There- 
upon the heap rose up as one man, astonishing poor 
Jack much as if he had stumbled upon a band of 
Indians lying in ambush. 

“ What in thunder ! — Jerusliy mighty ! — half- 
dollars ! ” ejaculated Cub and Dock and Tug ; while 
Hank stretched himself up to his full height, and 
Hod fell vindictively upon Jack. 

“Le’ me go !” screamed Jack, taking his knee out 
of a muskmelon, and shaking off his assailant. 

“ That ’s my melon,” said Hod, diving at him again 
furiously, “ an’ you ’ve smashed it ! ” 

He was butting and striking with blind rage, when 
Lion bounced upon him, and actually had him by 
the collar of his coat, dragging and shaking him with 
terrible growls, when Tug and Cub and Dock — one 
catching Hod by the heels, one Jack, and the other 
Lion — disentangled the combatants. 

“ Where j’e git all this money ? ” demanded Cub. 

“ Found it, and I ’m carrying it home,” said Jack, 
scrambling to pick up his scattered half-dollars. 

“He’s murdered somebody for it!” cried Hank, 
peering in the direction of the hollow log. “ I heered 
him ! Hold on to him, boys ! ” and he ran to make 
discoveries. 

“Don’t ye do that! ” said Jack, as Hod rushed to 


THE HUSWICK TRIBE.’ 


69 


help him pick up the coin. “ My dog will have hold 
of ye again ! Watch, Lion ! ” 

“ Take that out o’ yer pocket, Hod ! ” said Cub, 
seizing his youngest brother by the neck. “ Melons 
is fair game, but now ye’re stealin’. None o’ that 
while I ’m around ! ” 

Hank, meanwhile, had reached the hollow log, 
beside which the hat and cane were ; when, hearing 
groans from within and seeing a pair of legs sticking 
out, he began at once to remove the rubbish from the 
opening. Dock and Tug went to his assistance ; and, 
each laying hold of a leg while Hank pulled energet- 
ically at the coat-tail, poor old Peternot, half smoth- 
ered, fearfully rumpled, and frightfully cross, was 
hauled out by the heels horizontally. 


70 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF 


CHAPTEK XI. 

THE “COURT” AND THE “VERDICT.” 

When at length the squire stood upon the legs he 
had been drawn out by, and found himself in the 
presence of the Huswick hoys, the recognition and 
pleasure were mutual. 

“ You scoundrels ! ” he began, brushing the dirt 
from his clothes and hair. 

“What are we scoundrels fer?” said Hank, the 
tall one, with a comical grin on his thin, sinewy 
features. “ Fer snakin’ ye out of the log ? ” 

“If ye ain’t satisfied, we can pack ye in agin,” 
suggested Dock. But Peternot did not seem to take 
that view of the matter. 

“ How come ye in there, anyhow ? ” said Tug. 
“Was he murderin’ on ye?” 

“ Yes ! Where is the villain ? He ’s got my 
money ! ” And away limped the old man in pursuit 
of the youthful robber and assassin. 

“ Them melons ! ” whispered Tug. 

“ Can’t help it now,” muttered Dock. “ Hank, I 
wish you ’d left the old fox in his hole ! ” 

Guided by the sound of voices, and the sight of a 
head or two between the standing trunks, Peternot 
marched straight to the log behind which Jack was 
busy picking up his half-dollars. There were Cub 


THE “ COURT ” AND THE “ VERDICT.’ 


71 


and Hod watching him, while Lion watched them ; 
there also were the stolen melons, — an interesting 
sight to the angry squire. 

“ Hullo, boys ! ” said Hank, leaning over the log, 
with one foot upon it, “ where did them melons come 
from ? ” 

“ Do’no’,” replied Cub. " They was here when we 
come, — wa’ n’t they, Hod ? ” 

"Them melons come from my garden, and they 
come by your hands ! ” exclaimed Peternot. “ I know 
it! and I’ll have ye up for trespassin’, the hull 
cohoodie of ye ! ” 

“ Look here, squire ! ” said Hank, " seems to me 
you ’re a little mite hasty. You ought to know your 
friends better ’n all that. Where ’d you be now, if 
’t wa’ n’t for us ? In that ’ere hole. And where ’ll ye 
be agin in less ’n no time, if ye ain’t plaguy careful ? 
In that ’ere hole ! ” 

"He says you was murderin’ on him, Jack/’ ob- 
served Tug. 

"That’s a likely story!” cried the excited Jack, 
who by this time had got his half-dollars all back . 
into the basket again. "Could I put him into the 
log ? He was in the log, — he was robbing me y — 
so I fastened him in and got away, — or I should have 
got away, if I hadn’t stumbled over you fellows. 
How just help me home with this money, and I ’ll 
pay you well.” 

" Help him at your peril ! ” said Peternot. Then, 
seeing the importance of securing such powerful 


72 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


allies, he added, “ Maybe I was hasty, boys. Help 
me home with my money, and I ’ll say nothin’ about 
the melons.” 

“ That ’s fair, if it ’s your money,” said Hank. 
“ Seems to be a dispute about it. Guess we ’ll try 
the case. Come, now, — you fust, squire, — give in 
yer evidence whilst the court refreshes himself with 
a melon or two.” 

So saying, Hank coolly reached over and stuck his 
knife into a watermelon, which he proceeded to eat, 
sitting on the log. “ Take holt, boys,” he said, “ this 
is lickin’ good, — wonder whose patch it come from ! 
Yours, did ye say, squire ? Guess I shall have to 
pay ye a visit some time. No, no. Jack! set down 
that basket ! ye can’t leave the court with the dam- 
ages ’fore the case is decided. Wal, seein’ the old 
man hain’t found his tongue yit, we ’ll hear your 
testimony.” 

Peternot was, in fact, so choked with wrath at the 
sight of the five Huswick boys — for all the others 
had duly followed Hank’s example — sitting comfort- 
ably on the log, regaling themselves with his melons, 
that he could not have spoken without doing his 
cause great injury; and thus it happened that Jack 
was first heard. 

“Now put your hand on this watermelon an’ 
swear ’t you ’ll tell the truth, the hull truth, and 
nothin’ but the truth,” said Hank, who had more 
than once seen the inside of a court-room, — perhaps 
unwillingly; and he handed Jack a slice of melon, 


The “ Court ” in the Woods. 

















































































































*■« 






















» 




* 












+ . 














































THE “ COURT ” AND THE “ VERDICT.’ 


73 


which the poor fellow took with a grin and ate. 
“ Now answer me ; an’ don’t ye try to tell too much ; 
for though they alluz make a chap swear to tell the 
hull truth, they never let him, but shet his mouth 
dumb quick if he goes to let out more ’n they ask 
fer. Now.” (Hank took a bite of melon.) “ What ’s 
yer name ? ” 

“ Jack Hazard.” 

“ Ockepation ? ” 

“ I work for Mr. Chatford.” 

“ What did ye do ’fore that ? ” (Another bite.) 

“ I drove on the canal, for Captain Berrick.” 

“ How did ye happen to leave him ? ” 

“ He flung me into the canal twice in one day, 
which I thought was once too often, and I run away 
from him.” 

“ Poor boy ? ” (Hank dug into his melon again.) 
“Yes; I never had anything, — I never had even 
a chance for myself till now.” 

“ Take another slice,” said Hank. “ Now you ’ve 
got a chance for yourself ? ” 

“ I thought I had ; but this old man here comes 
down on me, and claims the money which I found in 
that hollow log.” And Jack, with the indulgence 
of the august court, — holding his second slice of 
melon in his hand, — poured forth his story. 

“Now what have you got to say to all that?” 
said Hank, turning to the squire. “ Have a bite ? ye 
better,” holding out a piece of melon on the blade of 
his jack-knife. 

4 


74 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


Peternot declined to regale himself, and made 
answer : “ I say what I ’ve said to him, — the money 
(if ’t is money, though in all probability it ’s bogus) 
was found on my premises, it has not been taken 
from my premises, and I forbid his takin’ it. But 
I ’ve offered him a liberal reward for findin’ on ’t, and 
1 offer it again.” 

“Squire,” said Hank, “you’re a fair man, an’ I 
must say your melons are excellent. What do ye 
think, boys ? ” 

How the boys were unanimously of the opinion 
(with the exception of Hod) that the coin was 
spurious, and consequently good for nothing but to 
help them make their peace with Peternot. Jack 
saw them winking at each other, and knew their 
thoughts. 

“You sha’ n’t take it away from me!” he cried, 
throwing himself upon the basket. “ I ’ll die first ! 
and you ’ll have to kill my dog ! O, I wish Mr. 
Chatford was here!” 

“ That ’s the most sensible idee yit,” said Dock. 
“ Boys, we don’t want to mix up with this business, 
only to see fair play. Better let the deacon settle it. 
He ’s hum from meetin’ by this time. Go fer him, 
Bub ; I ’ll take care of your basket.” 

“Will you ! Won’t you let him have it ? nor take 
it yourselves ? ” 

“What should we take it fer? We’ve no claim 
on ’t, anyhow,” said Hank, who might, however, have 
thought and acted differently if he had believed the 


THE “ COURT ” AND THE “ VERDICT.’ 


75 


coin genuine. “ Put, now ! If I ’m alive, the basket 
shall stay till you come back.” 

“Besides, you can leave your dog,” said Cub. 
“ He ’ll watch your interest, while the squire ’ll watch 
hisn. Be quick, for we can’t stay much longer ’n 
it’ll take to finish our melons.” 

Notwithstanding his anxious doubts, Jack was 
persuaded that the best thing he could do was to run 
in all haste for the deacon, leaving Lion, Peternot, 
and the Huswick boys to watch each other and take 
care of the treasure in his absence. 

“We ’ll keep our word about the basket,” said 
Hank, with a droll look, as Jack disappeared over 
the fence ; “ but about the stuff that ’s in ’t, this 
is the judgment of the court, — we allow ’t the 
squire’s claim is just, an’ give him the money, 
pervided he ’ll say nothin’ ’bout the melons, but 
pay us a dollar apiece for helpin’ him carry it 
hum.” 

“ But we ’ve engaged ’t the basket shall stay till he 
comes back,” Cub objected. 

“ An’ whatever else we do, we ’re fellers that keeps 
our word,” added Dock, over his melon. 

“Then how’s the coin to go?” demanded the 
exasperated squire, thinking the boys meant to dally 
with him until Mr. Chatford’s arrival. 

“You don’ know nothin’ ’bout war, — you never 
see a one-hoss wagon ! ” said Dock, contemptuously. 
“ Hod, off with yer breeches ! ” 

Hod naturally objected, on strong personal grounds. 


76 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


to this part of the arrangement. He started to run, 
hut Tug headed him off, and Cub seized him ; when, 
finding that, with or without his consent, he was 
destined to part with the required garment for a 
season, the lamb of the flock yielded, and kicked off 
that portion of his fleece. 

Cub took the trousers, and quickly turned the legs 
into a pair of bags by tying cords about the ankles. 
“ How bring on yer grist,” said he ; " I ’ll hold the 
sack open!” 

" Plague on the dog!” said Tug. "He won’t le’ 
me tech it.” 

“ I can coax him. Here, poor fellow ! ” said Cub, 
patting him. 

Lion did not greatly resent the patting, but the 
moment Cub’s hand reached for the basket, a deep 
growl warned him off. 

" Kill the brute ! ” cried Peternot. " We can’t be 
bothered this way.” 

“ That ’s easy enough, if you ’ll pay damages,” said 
Dock. 

"That I ’ll do, — a miser’ble cur that stan’s in 
the way o’ my takin’ my own, on my own prem- 
ises ! ” 

"Kill him it is, then” said Dock, looking for a 
club, and finding two. " Hank, you take this. Cub, 
you take your dirk-knife. Squire, lend Tug your 
cane, or use it yourself.” 

"How see here!” objected Hank. "This looks to 
me kind o’ mean, — half a dozen on us agin one dog ! 


THE “COURT” AND 1HE “VERDICT. 1 


77 


Hanged if I don’t like the looks o’ the pup, an’ I 
won’t have him killed.” 

“ What ’ll ye do, then ? ” 

“ I ’ll show ye.” 

Lion was standing near the log, on the other side 
of which Hank placed himself. 

“Now pretend you ’re goin’ to grab the basket 1*’ 


78 


A CHANCE FOR HIMbELF. 


CHAPTEE XII. 

HOW hod’s trousers went to the squire’s house. 

Hank leaned over the log, — his lank frame and 
astonishing length of limb favoring the execution of 
his stratagem, — and seized Lion by one of his hind 
legs while his attention was diverted by a feigned 
attack upon the treasure. Finding himself caught, 
the dog wheeled furiously ; hut on the instant Hank, 
swinging his hind-quarters upon the log, drew them 
between two prongs of an upright limb, forked near 
the trunk, where it was easy to hold him, with his 
head hanging. 

“Now who ’s got a good stout string ?” 

“ Here ’s a whiplash in Hod’s breeches pocket \ ” 

Tug leaped the log with it, and assisted in lashing 
Lion’s hind legs to the limb, below the fork in which 
he was suspended by his thighs. The poor fellow’s 
struggling and yelping were of no avail: there he 
was, hung. 

Meanwhile Cub held his pair of bags open, and the 
coin was emptied into them. The squire stooped 
with many a groan to pick up the scattered pieces 
that rolled on the ground. Then the well-freighted 
trousers were set astride Hank’s lofty neck ; at which 
he began to prance and kick up, in playful imitation 


HOW HOD’S TROUSERS WENT TO THE SQUIRE’S. 79 

of a colt — or should we say a giraffe? — with a 
strange rider. 

“ Now ye need n’t but one of ye go with me,” said 
Peternot ; “ or at the most two.” 

“ Two can’t carry all that silver,” said Cub. “We 
must all help. And edge along towards Aunt Patsy’s 
wood-lot, if ye don’t want to meet Jack and the 
deacon. Cornin’, Hod ? ” 

“ I can’t without my breeches ! ” replied the dis- 
contented youth. 

In no very pleasant mood he saw his trousers ride 
off on Hank’s shoulders, — still visible above the 
undergrowth after the squire and the rest of his odd 
escort had disappeared from view. So great indeed 
was Hod’s chagrin at being left behind in this way, 
that he found it necessary at once to set himself 
about some sort of mischief. First he broke open 
the best of the remaining melons, and ate as much as 
he could of them. Then he gathered up all the rinds 
and fragments and placed them in the basket, to- 
gether with bits of rotten wood, covering the whole 
with the frock which Jack had left spread over the 
coin. 

“Now when he comes he ’ll think his money is 
there, till he looks, then won’t he be mad!” With 
which happy thought Hod ran and hid in some 
bushes, where he could watch the fun. 

Meanwhile Hod’s trousers, with their legs full of 
coin, were shifted from shoulder to shoulder of his 
big brothers, as the strange procession emerged from 


80 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


the woods and moved across Peternot’s pasture, the 
squire lamely bringing up the rear. Arrived at his 
house, he brought out a meal-sack, and the coin was 
emptied into it. He then took two of the half-dol- 
lars and offered them to Hank. 

“ What ’s that fer \ ” said the tall youth, stooping 
to look at the money as if it had been some curious 
insect. 

“ I owe ye a dollar/’ said Peternot. 

“ So ye du,” replied Hank, “ but I prefer to take 
my pay in money as is money, if it ’s the same thing 
to you.” 

“ You yourself said you believed this was bogus,” 
added Dock; “an’ I don’t s’pose you want to be 
hauled up for passin’ it.” 

Peternot felt the force of the remark, and with a 
long face took from his pocket-book a bank-note, 
which he handed to Hank. 

“ The same to me, if you please,” said Dock. “ I 
said a dollar apiece.” 

The squire protested against such extortion, but 
finally, reminded that he had said two of the boys 
might come with him, he paid Dock_ also. Then 
Cub and Tug held out expectant hands ; whereat he 
flew into a passion. 

“ I don’t even know ’t the coin is good ; and d’ ye 
think I ’m goin’ to submit to any such swindle ? 
Clear out, you melon-thieves ! ” 

“All right!” said Cub, coolly, with his hand on 
the meal-sack; “but if I don’t take my dollar with 


HOW HOD’S TROUSERS WENT TO THE SQUIRE’S. 81 

me, I take this right back where we found it, and 
give it to the boy.” 

The firm position thus taken by Cub being ap- 
proved by his brothers, especially by Tug, the poor 
old squire saw no way but to yield, and Cub and 
Tug were paid. 

“Now a dollar for Hod ,” said Hank. 

“For Hod!” roared out the squire, like a man 
tortured beyond endurance. “ Hod did n’t come ! ” 

“ But his breeches did. A dollar for bis breeches, 
— if that will suit you any better. And quick ! ” 
said Hank, “ or the coin goes into ’em agin, an’ back 
to the basket.” 

“ I h ain’t got another dollar ! ” said Peternot, trem- 
bling with wrath and vexation. 

“ You ’ve a Y there ; we can change it,” sug- 
gested Cub. 

“ Take it, and may the rum ye buy with it pizen 
ye, you pack o’ thieves and robbers ! ” 

“ That sounds well from you, that have jest robbed 
a poor boy of what you more ’n half believe is good 
money, but which we ’re dumb sure is bogus, or else 
we never ’d have helped ye off with it. Thieves and 
robbers, hey ? Hear him, boys ! ” 

Hank laughed derisively, and all went off chuck- 
ling gleefully over their Sunday afternoon’s job, 
while the squire, entering his house, slammed and 
bolted the door behind them. 


4* 




82 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTEB XIII. 

HOW JACK RESCUED LION, BUT MISSED THE TREASURE. 

The deacon’s folks had not got home from meeting 
when Jack reached the house; but he saw them 
coming, — Mr. Chatford, Mr. and Mrs. Pipkin, and 
Phin, in the old one-horse wagon. He met them at 
the gate, and hurriedly told his story as they were 
driving on to the house. 

“ Boy, you ’re crazy ! ” said the incredulous deacon. 

“ No, I ain’t ! Ho come quick ! They won’t wait 
long, and then Peternot will take the money ! ” 

“Well, well, — I suppose I’ll go, — pretty work 
for Sunday, I should say!” 

“It was wrong, — I ought to have told you all 
about it before,” said Jack, “but I thought I was 
doing the best thing; I didn’t want anybody to 
know whose land I found the money on, so he could 
n’t claim it.” 

“ Hurrah ! I ’ll go too ! ” cried Phin. “You take 
care of the old mare, Phi ! ” 

“ If if ’s the Huswick boys, I guess I better go 
and see fair play,” remarked Mr. Pipkin ; and he fol- 
lowed with the deacon, while Phin ran ahead with 
Jack. 

The two boys reached the pasture ; and now Jack, 
outstripping his companion, darted forward to a cer- 


HOW JACK MISSED HIS TREASURE. 83 

tain low length of fence, leaped upon it, and peered 
with a wild and anxious gaze into the woods. 

“ They ’re gone ! they ’re gone ! ” he shrieked de- 
spairingly; and, tumbling over the rails, he ran 
through the hushes to the log. 

They were gone indeed ; but there was his basket, 
just where he had left it, covered with his frock. 
He flew to it, and stripped off the covering; and 
there Phin, as he came up, found him staring in 
utter consternation and dismay at a peck of melon 
rinds and rotten wood. 

“Is that yer money?” said Phin. “I don’t be- 
lieve there was any : you ’ve been fooling us ! ” 

Jack threw out the rubbish, with the frantic 
thought that the coin must still he there. 

“ They ’ve robbed me ! ” he sobbed out, when the 
bottom of the basket was reached and showed noth- 
ing but rinds and fragments of rotten wood. 

A whining sound came to his ear ; and just then 
Phin said, “ 0, just look ! what ’s the matter with 
your dog ? ” J ack looked, and there, half hidden by 
the bushes, was Lion hanging by the hips from the 
forked limb of the log. He sprang to rescue him. 
The whiplash was tied in a tight knot, and out came 
the boy’s knife to cut it. 

This part of the fun Hod Huswick, in his ambush, 
had not anticipated, and did not relish. 

“ Here ! that ’s my whiplash ! don’t ye cut it ! ” he 
cried ; and from the bushes leaped the bare legs with 
their flapping linen, to the no little astonishment of 
Phineas Chatford. 


84 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 



JACK RESCUES LION. 


“ I ’ll cut it, and you too ! ” The whiplash was 
severed, and Jack, knife in hand, turned upon Hod. 
“ What have you done with my money ? ” 

“ Hain’t done nothin’ with ’t, — I hain’t teched it.” 

“ Who has?” 

“ They took it, and stole my breeches to carry it 
off in, ’cause they said they ’d promised you not to 
take the basket. They stole my whiplash, too, fer to 


I/ v 


HOW JACK MISSED HIS TREASURE. 


85 


tie the dog with ; I could n’t help myself ; an’ now 
you ’ve cut it ! ” 

“ Where ’ve they gone ? ” 

“To Peternot’s; he hired ’em to help him carry 
the money home.” 

Then Jack saw how completely he had been out- 
witted and betrayed. He did not rave at his ill- 
luck ; but to Mr. Chatford, who now approached with 
Mr. Pipkin, he told what had happened, and in a 
tone of unnatural calmness appealed to him for 
redress. “ For if you can’t do anything for me,” he 
said, turning his pale face and tearless eyes at the 
empty basket, “ I shall get my pay out of the old 
squire some way, if I live ! Tell him he ’d better 
look out ! ” 

“ There, there ! ” said the deacon, soothingly. 
“ Don’t make any foolish threats. I think it ’s most 
unwarrantable conduct on Peternot’s part, and I ’ll 
see him about it.” 

“ Go over there right now ! why can’t ye ? ” 

“ My boy, remember it ’s Sunday.” 

“ He did n’t remember it was Sunday when he got 
my money away ! ” said Jack. 

“Very true,” said the deacon. “But nothing will 
be gained by going to him now. To-morrow I ’ll see 
about it.” 

“ To-morrow ! ” echoed Jack, with a fierce laugh. 

“ Burn his house down, I would ! ” whispered Phin, 
who, notwithstanding his profession of sympathy, felt, 
I regret to say, a secret gratification at Jack’s loss. 


86 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ Where was ’t ye found the money, Jack ? ” Mr. 
Pipkin inquired. 

Jack led the way, and all went to look at the hol- 
low log. While they were standing about it Hod’s 
brothers returned. Hod ran for his trousers, but 
Cub, who was about to fling them at him, changed 
his mind and tossed them into a tree, where they 
lodged. 

“ That ’s for spilin’ the melons,” said he, regarding 
the heap on the ground. 

Hod caught up a club to throw at his amiable broth- 
er, but wisely changed his mind, and sent the missile 
up into the tree, in the hope of bringing down his 
breeches. As they did not come at the first fire, he 
sent club after club up after them, sputtering all the 
while with indignation; while his brothers walked 
loungingly on to the hollow log. 

Jack glared at them with deep and sullen hate, 
without deigning to speak; but the good deacon 
said, “ Seems to me, fellows, you ’ve played off a des- 
picable trick on this poor boy here ! You ought to 
have protected him in his rights ; but instead of that 
you ’ve helped rob him.” 

“ Not much of a robbery, I guess, deacon,” replied 
Dock, good-naturedly. “ ’T was nothin’ but a lot o’ 
bogus coin, no use to him nor to anybody.” 

"You’re mistaken,” replied the ingenuous Chatford, 
letting out a secret which Jack had thought it wise 
to keep. “ The coin was genuine ; at least I ’ve good 
reason to think so.” And he told why. 


HOW JACK MISSED HIS TREASURE. 


87 


The Huswick boys looked at each other. “ If 
that ’s the case, we did n’t git so much the start of 
the squire as we thought we did ! ” muttered Dock. 
“ On the contrary, he ’s got the start of us ! What 
do ye say, Hank ? ” 

“ It ’s too late now to say anything about it ; but 
hanged if I would n’t ’a’ swore the silver was no 
silver ! I thought ’t was nothin’ but the old man’s 
avariciousness made him think it might be good. 
We let him off too easy !” And Hank appeared more 
than half minded to go back and make better terms 
with the squire. 

“ They hung Lion up by the heels ! ” said Phin, 
getting behind his father, for he had a chronic dread 
of the Huswick tribe. 

“ I’d tie you up by the heels too,” said Cub, with 
a peculiar smile, “ if ’t wa’ n’t Sunday ! ” 

Whereupon Mr. Pipkin, who had been on the 
point of expressing an opinion, concluded to re- 
main silent; the ruffians might forget what day it 
was ! 

“Well, come, boys; I don’t see that we can do 
anything,” said the deacon. “ We may as well go 
home.” 

They walked back past the tree which Hod, in his 
imperfect attire, was still clubbing for the obstinate 
trousers, getting mad at them finally, and pelting 
them as if they were to blame for sitting there so 
quietly on the limb, in spite of him. Mr. Pipkin, out 
of respect to Jack’s grief, took up the basket and 


88 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


frock and carried them ; while Jack lingered behind 
with Lion, pondering dark thoughts. 

“Come, boy! you’d better go home,” said Mr. 
Chatford, coaxingly. “ Don’t be down-hearted. It 11 
turn out right or be made up to you somehow, if 
you meet it in the right spirit, I ’m confident.” 

“ 1 11 be there pretty soon, — I can’t go just yet,” 
replied Jack, dissatisfied with everybody and every- 
thing ; and he wandered off by himself in the woods, 
brooding upon his wrongs. 


SQUIRE PETERNOT AT HOME. 


89 


CHAPTER XIV. 

SQUIRE PETERNOT AT HOME. 

After dismissing the Huswick boys, Squire Peter- 
not carried his bag of coin into the room which served 
him as an office, where he had scarcely time to place 
it in a corner beside a bureau, when there came a 
dull thump at the kitchen door. He knew Mrs. 
Peternot’s signal, knocking with the soft under-part 
of her feeble fist, and went to let her in. 

She was a thin, wrinkled woman, dressed in black, 
with an expression of countenance almost as stern 
and sour as that of the grim old squire himself. 

“ Huh ! ” said she, scowling as she entered, “ how 
happens it ye hain’t got the fire agoin’ an’ the taters 
bilin’ ? ” 

“ I ’ve had somethin’ else to think on. Where ’s 
Byron ? ” replied her husband, shortly. 

“ Gone to the barn with the hoss, I s’pose. But he 
won’t unharness, — ketch him ! ” 

“ I did n’t expect he would, with his Sunday clo’es 
on.” 

“ Sunday clo’es or any clo’es on, he don’t tech his 
fingers to anything that ’ll sile ’em, or that looks like 
work, if he can help it,” muttered good Mrs. Peternot, 
laying off her black bonnet. “ You never would allow 


90 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


sicli laziness in your own son, an’ wliy ye should in a 
nephew any more, I can’t consait .” 

“ Byron is a sort of visitor,” said the squire. “ And 
if I choose to favor him, — now that we ’ve nobody 
else to show favors to, — why should n’t I ?” 

“ If you ’d felt so indulgent towards him when he 
was alive, he might be with us now,” replied the dis- 
contented wife, carefully doing up her shawl before 
putting it away in its appropriate drawer. 

By him she meant their only son, whose bad habits 
had received so little encouragement beneath the pa- 
rental roof, that he had taken them abroad with him 
and become their victim. 

“ Why must ye forever be gallin’ me with that sub- 
ject ? ” said Peternot, with a look of anguish. “You 
know I did what I thought was for the best. Come, 
I ’ll start the fire for ye, and put the pot on, if that ’ll 
make ye any better-natered.” 

“ I ’m good-natered enough, but I should think 
somethin’ had riled you up,” returned the lady. 
“ What is it ? ” 

“Boys have been in the melon-patch, for one 
thing.” 

“ Been in the melon-patch ! when ye stayed to 
hum a’most a puppus to keep watch on ’t I ” And 
the good woman, having removed her Sunday cap, 
false hair and all, turned her thin face and scowling 
brows, crowned by a few thin gray locks, in amaze- 
ment on her husband. “ That ’s a likely story ! was 
ye asleep, I wonder ? ” 


SQUIRE PETERNOT AT HOME. 


91 


Peternot made no reply, but went on kindling the 
fire in the open fireplace, until his nephew came in. 

“ I took the horse to the barn ; did you want the 
harness off ? ” said that young gentleman, standing 
with his gloves and hat on, watching his uncle. 

There was a slight affectation of foppery about 
Byron, — something which the plain people of the 
neighborhood called “ soft ” ; and as Peternot, on his 
rheumatic knees before the fire, looked up through 
the smoke and ashes he was blowing into his face, 
and saw his dainty nephew stand there gloved and 
grinning, something of his wife’s feeling towards that 
nice young man came over him, — or was it only his 
impatience at the smoke and ashes ? 

“ Nat’ rally, I want the harness off, arter the hoss 
has been standin’ in ’t a good part o’ the day ! ” he 
answered, crossly. 

“ Oh ! ” said Byron ; “ I rather thought so, but I 
did n’t know.” 

“ I should think any fool would know that ! ” 

“ Very likely a fool would, but I did n’t happen to.” 
And, with the grin still on his features, the youth 
looked at the kneeling old man, very much as if he 
would have liked to give him a vigorous kick with 
his polished boot. 

“ No matter ! I ’ll ’tend to it,” said the squire, and 
went on with his blowing. 

Byron smilingly withdraw. 

“ You never would have stood sich impudence from 
him ” said Mrs. Peternot, through the open* door of h 


92 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


bedroom into which she had retired ; “ an' why 
should ye from a nephew ? ” 

The squire made no reply to this reasonable ques- 
tion, but, having kindled a fire and put on the pot, 
went out to take care of the horse. Byron mean- 
while walked about the place with his fine clothes on, 
until supper was ready. 

“Come, Byron,” then said the squire; and both 
went in and took seats at the little oilcloth-covered 
table. The supper consisted of boiled potatoes seryed 
with their skins on, thin slices of fried pork swimming 
in their own melted fat, and a heavy and sour kind of 
bread, which, by its quality and complexion, always 
reminded Byron of his Aunt Peternot, who seemed to 
have mixed up something of herself in the dough. 
He was blessed with a good appetite, however, and 
he ate heartily, notwithstanding his unpleasant con- 
sciousness of the fact — or was it only his imagina- 
tion ? — that the good woman watched with a be- 
grudging scowl every morsel that went to his plate ; 
seeming to say, “ What ! another tater ! More bread ! 
A second cup of tea, and sich big cups too ! Seems 
to me I would n’t make a hog of myself, if I was visit- 
in’ my uncle ! ” 

It was never a cheerful household ; on Sundays it 
was even less sociable than on other days, and on 
this particular Sunday afternoon, Byron thought the 
cloud which hung over it unusually heavy. Some- 
thing seemed to trouble his uncle, who sat grim and 
silent, sipping his tea scalding hot, and working his 


SQUIRE PETERNOT AT HOME. 


93 


massy jaws as if the pork and potatoes had done him 
an injury, and he was wreaking a gloomy vengeance 
upon them. 

“ Where are you going, Byron ? ” the squire asked, 
as his nephew was about leaving the house after 
supper. 

“ Thought I ’d walk out, — did n’t know but I 
might call at Deacon Chatford’s by and by, — I hear 
they have a little singing there, Sunday evenings.” 

Mrs. Peternot scowled at the young gentleman, 
then turned and scowled at her husband, and said in 
an undertone: “It’s that ’ere Annie Pelton, the 
schoolmarm ! He ’s arter her, — jest like all the rest 
on ’em ! ” 

“ Byron,” said the squire, solemnly, “ I ’d like to 
speak with you before you go out.” And he led the 
way to his office-room. 

“Now what?” thought Byron, anxiously. “Is he 
going to tell me I ’ve been here about long enough, 
and had better pack up my trunk and clear ? ” 

“ Byron,” said the squire, closing the door behind 
them, “it’s a subject I ought not to bring up on the 
Sabbath day, but it weighs upon my mind, and I ’ve 
concluded I ’d better speak to you about it. See 
what you think of this.” And he took from the cor- 
ner behind the bureau the meal-bag with its compact 
but weighty contents, which he set down with a 
heavy chink before his nephew. 

Byron, feeling greatly relieved, peeped curiously 
into the sack as Peternot opened it. “ By mighty ! ” 


94 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


said he, surprised at what he saw, and thrusting in 
his hand. “ Where did ye get this ? ” 

In a few words the squire told the story. Byron 
in the mean time carefully tested one of the coins, 
cutting it with his knife and ringing it on the hearth. 

“ All right,” said he ; “ you Ve got possession. But 
what ’s the use ? ’T ain’t good for anything.” 

“ You think so ? ” 

“I’m sure of it. Very well done, for counterfeit- 
ing, — but, of course ! ” And Byron tossed the piece 
back into the bag with a smile of contempt. 

“ Wal, that’s jest the conclusion I’ve come to,” 
said the squire. “I thought all along it might be 
bogus ; and as soon as I got it fairly into my hands, 
I was sartin on ’t. What provokes me is the trouble 
it cost, — and more ’n all, the money them pesky 
Huswick boys gouged out of me ! ” And the old man 
groaned. 

By this time Mrs. Peternot, her curiosity excited 
regarding the conference of uncle and nephew, came 
into the room, for an excuse exclaiming, “ Why, 
squire ! what have you got the house shet up so tight 
for ? ” and proceeded to open the window. “ Massy 
on us ! what ye got in the bag ? ” 

“I told ye I had somethin’ to think on, this arter- 
noon,” said Peternot ; “ and this is it.” 

“It has cost him five dollars,” remarked Byron, 
pleasantly, “ and it ’s worth, as old metal, about fifty 
cents ! ” 

“ Wal, you have been fooled, complete ! ” exclaimed 


SQUIRE PETERNOT AT HOME. 


95 


the old lady. " I don’t wonder ye kep’ it to yerself 1 
Five dollars ! have ye lost yer wits ? ” 

“ Come, come ! I ’m feelin’ uncomf ’table enough 
about it, a’ready ! ” said the squire. “ But there ’s a 
possibility, yet, that it may be good money. Can’t 
tell. I should do jest so agin, under the sarcum- 
stances, most likely. Any way it ’s better to have it 
in my possession, than to leave bad boys to carry it 
off and pass it, as they undoubtedly would. I don’t 
want it to make trouble ’twixt me and my neighbors, 
though ; and, Byron, if you are going over to the dea- 
con’s, you might see what he has to say about it; 
tell him it ’s counterfeit, and that I thought so — kind 
o’ thought so — all along, but considered it my duty 
— you understand ? ” 

Byron understood, and smilingly replied that he 
would “make it all right” for his uncle. 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


96 


CHAPTER XV. 

JACK AND THE HUSWICK BOYS. 

Jack — no longer the bright and cheerful lad 
whom we so lately saw picking up stones in the hilly 
pasture — went home, brooding darkly over his 
wrongs, and refused to be comforted by anything the 
good deacon and his wife could say to him. 

“ He robbed me, and hung up my dog by the heels, 

• — got the Huswick tribe to help him ; and here I 
am, alone against all of ’em, and nobody lifts a hand 
or says a word to help me ! ” was his bitter complaint, 
as he took the milk-pails after supper, and went out 
of the kitchen, shutting the door after him (I am 
sorry to say) with something like a bang. 

“ I ’m a little disappointed in Jack,” observed the 
deacon, sadly. 

“ 0, well, I don’t know,” replied his wife, — “ you 
need n’t be ; almost any boy of as much will and 
spirit as he has would feel so. He has been shame- 
fully wronged, — you ’ll allow that.” 

“ But he blames me ! ” said the deacon. 

“ Blames everybody ! ” struck in Mr. Pipkin, on 
the point of going out, but standing and holding the 
door open. “ I don’t s’pose anything under heavens 
would satisfy him, Mis’ Chatford, but for me and the 
deacon to march over to Peternot’s, give the old rep- 


JACK AND THE HUSWICK BOYS. 


97 


robate a good cudgellin’, which I don’t deny but 
what he desarves fast enough, and lug hum the 
money.” 

“ I wish the money had been at the bottom of the 
sea before ever Jack stumbled upon it ! ” said Mr. 
Chatford. “I shall certainly go over and see the 
squire in the morning, and be plain with him, — for 
I do think he has acted a most dishonorable part in 
the matter.” 

“ I back ye up on that,” said Mr. Pipkin. 

“ A sight of good your backing up will do ! ” re- 
marked Mrs. Pipkin, sarcastically. “ It won’t restore 
Jack’s money. I don’t wonder he ’s sulky, — we all 
set down, so quiet, talking over his loss, instead of 
walking straight over to the squire’s, and doing some- 
thing, as I believe I should if I was a man.” 

“ Wish ye was one, for a little spell,” said Mr. Pip- 
kin, showing all his front teeth. “ Guess you ’d make 
old Peternot’s fur fly ! Guess he ’d wish — ” 

“Mr. Pipkin!” interrupted Mrs. Pipkin, in a 
warning voice, “ you ’ll oblige me very much by 
shutting that door, with yourself on the outside ! ” 

Mr. Pipkin still showed a considerable amount of 
ivory, as he turned, and said aside to the deacon, with 
a wink : “ These ’ere women ! — have to indulge ’em. 
No use of answerin’ back, as old Dr. Larkin, minister 
o’ the gospil, — six foot high, eighty year old, wore a 
wig, best man in the world, — said once, as he was 
goin’ into a house where there was a parrot, and the 
parrot sung out, ‘ That ’s an old fool ! ’ — 1 No use of 

5 G 


98 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


answerin’ back ! ’ says the good old doctor, — hi, hi ! 
— I often think on ’t.” 

“ Mr. Pipkin,” said Mrs. Pipkin, with biting sever- 
ity, pointing at the door, “ will you oblige me ? ” 

And Mr. Pipkin obliged her, chuckling as he went. 

Jack sat milking a cow, with his head pressed 
against her flank, looking down into the pail, in 
which the bright streams were dancing, when Phin 
came into the yard. 

“Say, Jack!” cried that perfidious youngster, 
“ was n’t it too bad, though, for you to be robbed of 
all that money ? ” although Phin’s private sentiment 
was that it was a capital joke. “ And what do you 
think I overheard just now ? Mrs. Pip said if she 
was you she would get hold of it again somehow ; 
and father said you would have a right to take it 
anywhere, if you could lay hands on it; he didn’t 
know but ’t would be justifiable , — that was his 
word.” 

“ That ’s all the good words do ; for how can I get 
it ? ” said J ack, who, having, in his imagination, 
again and again, by some desperate act, overthrown 
his enemy and regained his lost treasure, would have 
been glad enough to know how his wild thoughts 
could be successfully reduced to practice. 

He was still nourishing in his excited mind these 
fiery fancies, when, the milking over, he went to walk 
in the orchard ; having all sorts of fearful adventures 
with the gaunt old Peternot, and always coming off 
triumphant with his treasure. Now he hurled him 


JACK AND THE HUSWICK BOYS. 


99 


down his own cellar-way, and buttoned the door. 
Now he caught him, and, single-handed, tied him 
with a clothes-line, drawing it dreadfully tight, in the 
hardest kind of hard knots, and left him bound to a 
bed-post. Then the squire fell dead in a fit, — a judg- 
ment upon him for his wickedness, — just as he was 
lifting the money into his wagon in order to carry it 
away and sell it. Or Lion took the old man down 
and held him while his young master bore off the 
coin. Jack got the treasure in every instance, — 
only to wake up at last, and find that all his dreams 
of what he might do left him still hopelessly wronged 
and baffled. 

He passed on through the orchard, and uncon- 
sciously drew near the scene of the afternoon’s con- 
flict. That had still a strange attraction for him ; he 
must once more view the spot where his hopes of 
fortune had been raised so high, to be followed so 
soon by impotent rage and despair. 

As he advanced through the darkening woods, — 
for it was now dusk, — he heard noises in the direc- 
tion of the hollow log, and thought, with a sudden 
wild leap of the heart, that one of his dreams of ven- 
geance might be coming true. “ It ’s old Peternot ! 
he has come back to get the rest of the money in the 
log ! Here ! keep behind me, Lion ! ” 

Then he heard voices, and, gliding near, among the 
shadowy trees, perceived that it was not the squire, 
but some of the “ Huswick tribe,” whom the hope of 
finding more coin had brought again to the hollow 


100 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


log. There were Cub and Tug and Hank ; they had 
broken the rotten shell to pieces, laying the cavity 
completely open ; and they now stood around it, pok- 
ing in the rubbish with sticks or fingers or feet, hunt- 
ing _ i n y a in it seemed — for stray half-dollars. 

“ Hullo, Bub!” said Hank, “ye made a perty 
clean sweep on’t, didn’t ye! Here’s the old box, 
but not a dollar to pay us for our trouble ! That 
seems kind o’ mean.” 

Jack did not answer, but, keeping Lion at his side, 
walked slowly past the group, glaring sullenly at 
them from under his angry brows. 

“ He ’s afraid to speak,” said Cub. 

“ Afraid ? ” said Jack, turning and facing him. “ I 
despise you too much to speak to you ! Great lub- 
berly fellows like you, to take the part of an old 
miser against one boy, — I look upon you as cowards 
and thieves ! ” 

“ Bemember how we served your dog ! ” said Cub, 
with a malignant grin. 

“ Yes, I do remember it ! You had to wait till I 
was gone before you had the courage to do even that ! 
If you had n’t lied to me, and got me out of the way 
first, you never would have taken that money, — 
somebody would have been hurt first!” 

“ Look out ! ” said Cub, seizing a broken branch, 
and advancing towards the audacious youngster. 

“Come on!” cried Jack, jeeringly. “You’re big 
enough to cut up into six decent fellows, — if any- 
thing decent could be made out of such rubbish, — 


JACK AND THE HUSWICK BOYS. 


101 


but you ’d better bring fifteen or twenty of your big 
brothers to help you! See here ! ” said Jack, as the 
broken branch came whizzing past his head, “two 
can play at that game ! ” And he sent back a club 
with so sure an aim that it took the burly Cub full 
in the stomach. “No credit to me!” yelled Jack, 
alert on his legs. “ Could n’t help hitting such a big 
mark ! ” 

“ 0, git out, Cub ! ” Hank called after his brother ; 
“what’s the use? I don’t blame the boy. We’ve 
been hard enough on him, and now I ’m goin’ to take 
his part. Come back here, Bub ! I want to talk. 
You sha’ n’t be hurt.” 

“ Hurt ? as if I was afraid of him ! It ’s all I can 
do to keep my dog from his throat, — he has a grudge 
to wipe out ! Here, Lion ! Put the souls of the whole 
tribe of you in a balance, and my dog’s would out- 
weigh ’em ! You could shake ’em all in a pepper- 
box, and not hear ’em rattle; they would have as 
much room in a teapot as so many crabs in Lake 
Erie!” 

“ I like your spunk, Bub ! ” said Hank, laughing. 
“ And, see here ! we never would have gi’n the old 
man the money, if we ’d thought ’t was good for 
shucks. You know that.” 

“No, I don’t know it! I believe you’re mean 
enough for anything.” 

“That’s the talk! You’ve a right to think so. 
But what if we should help you now to git the money 
back?” 


102 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ You can’t !” exclaimed Jack. 

“ Can’t ! you don’t know what we can do ! ” 

“ Then why don’t you go and git it ? ” 

“ ’Cause we ’ve no right to, — ’t ain’t ourn, — ’t 
would be stealin But you ’ve the fust claim on ’t, 

— you could take it, and we could help ye, and then 
Peternot might git it back if he could.” 

“ I guess nobody ’d get it again, if it was once in 
your hands ! ” 

“ There ye do us wrong,” said Tug. “We ain’t 
over-pe’tic’lar ’bout helpin’ ourselves to melons and 
sich trash where we can find it, but money is another 
thing.” 

“ And did n’t I make Hod throw down a handful 
of the half-dollars he was pickin’ up for ye ? ” added 
Cub. 

“Which you thought was bogus,” retorted Jack, — 
who was, however, beginning to be impressed by 
these friendly suggestions. 

“ Of course, we should expect a little suthin for our 
trouble,” said Hank ; “ but that can all be agreed on 
aforehand. If you can git back the money, you won’t 
mind payin’ us — say — here ’s me an’ Tug an’ Cub 

— ten dollars apiece, — that ’s thirty dollars, for the 
resk we run ? ” 

“ But we can’t get it ! ” 

“ Mebby not, but we can try. No harm in that. 
It ’s gittin’ dark now, — we can edge along towards 
the squire’s, and see what we can do. Send your dog 
hum ; he ’ll only be in the way.” 


JACK AND THE HUSWICK BOYS. 


103 


Jack was far from putting implicit trust in the 
honor of a Hus wick, even where the serious subject 
of money was involved; but was not this his only 
chance — though a slender one — of getting back 
any portion of his treasure ? And would he not pre~ 
fer sharing it with these scamps, to leaving it peace- 
ably in the possession of his enemy, the squire ? 

“ If we can only find out where it is,” said Hank, 
“ then we can be arguin’ with the old man, — for I 
guess he ’ll let us into the house, one at a time, — an’ 
finally carry it off ’fore his face an’ eyes, without we 
can hit on some luckier way.” 

Jack remembered Mr. Chatford’s word, reported 
to him by Phin, — that such an act on his part would 
be justifiable, — and so, regardless of the whisperings 
of conscience and of prudence, which nevertheless he 
could not quite reconcile to the course he was about 
to take, yielded to temptation, sent Lion home, and 
entered into an agreement with the Huswick boys. 


104 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

HOW JACK CALLED AT THE SQUIRE’S. 

About an hour later several dark figures might 
have been seen creeping stealthily along, behind 
Squire Peternot’s garden wall, in the direction of the 
house. A dim light shone at a window, and towards 
this they cautiously advanced. Jack remembered 
how, on a former occasion, he had gone with two of 
these same companions, — Cub and Tug, though li$ 
did not know them then, — in a mob that was to 
have attacked Aunt Patsy’s house, how they had 
approached her window, and how he had abhorred 
their base designs ; and he could not help wondering 
a little at the strange chance which now made him 
the accomplice of such wrong-doers. He seemed to 
himself in the mean time much more the reckless 
little canal-driver of old times, than the better self 
which had been developed under the wholesome in- 
fluences of his new home and friends. 

“ Now keep dark, boys,” said Hank, stopping be- 
hind some quince-bushes, “till I see how the land 
lays.” He stole round the edge of the bushes, to a 
spot that commanded a good view of the window, not 
more than two rods off. Being tall, he could look 
into it and see by the light of a dim tallow candle 
what was going on in the Peternot sitting-room. 


HOW JACK CALLED AT THE SQUIRE’S. 105 

“ All right. Only the old man and woman. She ’s 
jest goin’ into t’ other room, — to bed, I guess. He 
sets by the table, chin in his hands ; book open be- 
side him, — Bible, looks like, — but he ain’t readin’. 
No, she ain’t goin’ to bed, — there she comes back 
agin.” 

“Keep still!” whispered Jack. “There’s some- 
body ! ” 

Somebody approaching from the street, entering 
the yard, walking straight towards the house, and 
passing out of sight by the front corner. 

“Old man’s nephew! the Dinks feller!” whis- 
pered Hank. “ Comes in at the door, — says some- 
thing, — old man looks up, — lights another candle ; 
they are going to another room.” 

A light now appeared at another window, which 
Jack, greatly excited, discovered to be partly open. 
Close by it grew a lilac-bush, under cover of which 
he drew near, and peeped. He saw the tall form of 
Peternot cross the room, and then heard a clatter of 
chairs. Growing bolder, he advanced his head still 
farther, and saw uncle and nephew seated between a 
bureau in one corner, and a table on which the light 
was, at one side of the room. 

« Did ye see ’em ? have a talk with ’em ? ” Peter- 
not was saying. 

“Yes,” replied Byron Dinks; “they didn’t have 
much of a sing, — schoolma’am was n’t there, — not 
much company ; but, having an eye to the winter 
school, thought I ’d stay and make myself agreeable.” 

5 * 


106 A CHANCE FOE HIMSELF. 

“That’s right, that ’s right, nephew. And* did ye 
make it all sihooth with Mr. Chatford ? ” 

« I guess so ; said you thought only of doing your 
duty in the matter ; you did n’t want the money, but, 
knowing it was counterfeit — ” 

“ There you went a little too fur, nephew ; I did n’t 
know ; but go on.” 

“It was well I made the statement, however, for 
that brought out a surprising fact. You ’ll be aston- 
ished, uncle ! ” 

“ Hey ? what is it ? ” 

“The deacon said he was gratified to know you 
had acted on the supposition that the coin was spuri- 
ous ; and he felt sure that you would be ready to do 
the boy justice when you found out your mistake.” 

“ Mistake ? What mistake ? ” 

“ Coin is genuine ! ” 

“ No!” 

“ He says so ; says he took half a dollar of it to the 
goldsmith, over at the Basin, and he pronounced it 
good ; at any rate, he gave a good piece for it.” 

“Nephew, you amaze me! — I — this is news — 
news indeed ! ” 

The squire got up, and, turning to the corner of 
the room, drew forth from behind the bureau an ob- 
ject, the sight of which made Jack’s heart beat wildly. 

“ That ’s it ! ” whispered Hank in his ear, leaning 
forwards, behind a branch of the lilac-bush. 

Peternot opened the loosely tied sack, and uncle 
and nephew eagerly examined its contents. 


HOW JACK CALLED AT THE SQUIRE’S. 107 



“ It ’s the tarnish that makes the silver look so 
bad,” said the squire. “ That deceived both on us. 
I had all the while a strange feeliiT that the coin was 
good, though my reason said the contrary. It was 
only arter I ’d got it, and had paid the Huswicks, 
that my reason got the upper hand, and I felt so sure 
’t was bogus. I ’m glad you talked with the deacon. 
It ’s astonishing ! I did n’t make so bad a bargain 
with the rogues, arter all ! I guess we ’d better keep 


108 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


it all together,” added the squire, as Byron seemed in- 
clined to retain the specimens he had been handling. 

“ Be ye cornin’, any time to-night ? ” called the 
voice of Mrs. Peternot from the adjoining room. 

“She’s waitin’,” said the squire. “We was just 
goin’ to ’tend prayers, when you come in, — had been 
delayin’ a little on your account. I ’ll put it back 
here for the present ; then, arter prayers, 1 ’ll see 
what had better be done with ’t for the night.” 

Peternot, having returned the bag to its niche, sent 
his nephew out of the room before him, and followed, 
bearing the candle, which he blew out, to save it, as 
he crossed the threshold. The door was left open, 
however, and a dim light stole into the room from 
the kitchen beyond. 

“ Now ’s your time ! ” whispered Hank. “ I ’ll put 
ye in there ! Pass out the bag, — be still about it, — 
it ’s all right.” 

“I can’t, without making a noise !” replied Jack, 
trembling with excitement. “ They ’ll hear.” 

“ No, they won’t ! Don’t hurry. I ’ll help you. 
Take off your shoes.” 

Jack took off his shoes and hat, giving them to 
Tug to hold. Still he hesitated. 

“ I wish they had shut the door ! Wait a minute ! 
Hark !” 

“ The old man is readin’ the Scriptur’s ! ” said 
Hank. “ Then he ’ll pray. It could n’t have hap- 
pened better. Ye could grind a scythe, when he ’s 
prayin’, "an’ he would n’t hear.” 


HOW JACK CALLED AT THE SQUIRE’S. 109 

Jack listened a moment, and heard the squire read 
in a loud, nasal tone : — 

“ But know this , that if the good man of the house 
had known in what hour the thief would come he would 
have watched.” 

“I can't go !” Jack whispered, turning away. 

“ You can ! ” Hank insisted. “ How or never ! 
Your only chance. I ’ll lift you up.” 

“ Well ! lift ! careful ! ” 

Hank lifted him, and Jack went in at the window 
feet foremost. In a moment he found himself stand- 
ing on the floor, — frightened, but alert and resolute. 
He did not think he had made much noise. 

The squire continued reading : — 

“ The lord of that servant shall come in a day when 
he looketh not for him, and in an hour that he is not 
aware of, and shall cut him asunder, and appoint him 
his portion with the hypocrites” 

A thrill of terror crept over poor Jack, who could 
not help thinking that all this applied, somehow, 
particularly to himself. But it was too late now to 
draw back, he thought. 

He glided across the carpetless floor, making 
scarcely any noise with his bare feet, except that his 
ankle-bones cracked alarmingly. He did not stop 
until he reached the corner by the bureau ; when he 
perceived, by the changed tones of voice, that Peter- 
not was no longer reading, but talking, — making a 
few solemn comments on “ the words,” as he phrased 
it, which they were “ called to consider.” It was 


110 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


well for Jack that he had seen good Mr. and Mrs. 
Chatford at their devotions, and also known them in 
their daily lives, for otherwise I know not what con- 
temptuous ideas of religion he might have received, 
from witnessing the family worship of the hard- 
hearted and worldly-minded squire. 

As Peternot’s discourse was broken by intervals of 
silence, Jack thought, “ 1 11 wait till he begins to 
pray.” Then came a clatter of chairs : “ They ’re go- 
ing to kneel down ! ” thought he, and grasped tightly 
the loose top of the bag. But just then, to his con- 
sternation, he heard heavy footsteps approaching; 
somebody was entering the room ! 

It was Peternot, who, feeling now a more anxious 
care for the coin than when he believed it to be 
spurious, had remembered, during his devotions (his 
heart being where his treasure was), that the window 
of the room was open, and who deemed it prudent to 
step in and shut it before he began his prayer. 

The terrified Jack crowded himself into the corner 
by the bureau, and waited, breathless with apprehen- 
sion, while Peternot closed the window, and turned 
to go out. The old man took two or three steps to- 
wards the bureau, and gave a glance in the direction 
of the bag ; but having no light, he did not see the 
youthful house-breaker stuck up there in the dark 
niche, like a sjiivering ghost. 

Then lie went back into the kitchen, leaving the 
door wide open, the window closed and fastened, and 
Jack shut in. 


HOW JACK TOOK TO HIS HEELS. 


Ill 


CHAPTER XVII. 

HOW JACK TOOK TO HIS HEELS. 

In a moment all was still in the kitchen; then, 
after a brief silence, Peternot began to pray, in a low, 
solemn tone of voice. Jack, waiting and listening in 
his corner, was dismayed at this, remembering what 
Hank had just said of the old man’s prayers. 

“ That ’s no praying ! ” thought he. “ I shall never 
dare stir, unless he puts in, and makes more noise. 
Is that the best he can do, I wonder ? ” 

Peternot soon showed that he could do better, his 
voice rising as he proceeded in a manner that greatly 
encouraged Jack, who now slipped from his corner, 
in order to make an observation. 

Venturing to peep in at the open door, he saw the 
squire and his wife and nephew all kneeling before 
their chairs in the kitchen, with their backs toward 
him. That he considered a fortunate circumstance : 
they would not see him if he closed the door. 

“ But if I shut it,” he reflected, “ I shall be in the 
dark, and I may stumble over a chair ! I ’ll take the 
money to the window, and get everything ready first, 
— see just what I must do, and how to do it ; then 
I ’ll shut it.” 

He drew the bag from the corner, lifted it by its 
long, loose end, and carried it across the room, cast- 


112 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


ing one more glance at the kneeling group as he 
passed the door. Then, having set the bag down un- 
der the window, he carefully felt for the fastenings, 
and found the usual spring in one side of the sash. 
This he pressed with his thumb, and ascertained that 
the window would easily come open. All being ready, 
he stepped back, closed the door softly, without dar- 
ing to latch it, however, and returned to put his plan 
into execution. 

Pressing the window-spring, he raised the sash, and 
found himself at once in communication with Hank 
and Cub on the outside. 

“ Now, hand it out ! ” said Hank. 

“ Wait ! a little higher,” replied Jack, still pushing 
up the sash. Unfortunately, it stuck in the frame, 
and as he still kept his thumb on the spring to pre- 
vent its snapping with a noise when it reached a 
notch, he could not tell when it was fast. “ Now, 
hold it,” he said, and stooped to take up the bag. 

Both Cub and Hank had hold of the sash ; but as 
it appeared to be firm in its place, both let go of it 
in order to seize the treasure ; and so it chanced that, 
between them and Jack, down came the window with 
a loud clatter and a rattling of glass, broken by Cub’s 
unlucky fingers in a fruitless attempt to prevent the 
accident. 

Frightened by the noise, which he knew would 
alarm the household, Jack instantly threw up the 
sash again, tumbled out the bag, and was tumbling 
himself out, when the squire rushed into the room. 


HOW JACK TOOK TO HIS HEELS. 


113 


The fugitive scrambled head foremost through the 
narrow opening, and had nearly escaped, when Peter- 
not with a firm grip seized him by the legs. 

“ Byron ! Wife!” roared the squire within the 
room. “ Light ! ” 

“ Boys ! help ! ” screamed J ack, hanging head 
downwards on the outside, and kicking violently with 
the captured members. 



AN ABRUPT LEAVE-TAKING. 


114 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


With one hand he laid hold of the lilac-bush 
Hank, returning to his assistance, caught him by the 
shoulder ; while at the same time Byron Dinks re- 
lieved his uncle by grasping one of the unlucky legs. 
Hank pulled on the outside ; uncle and nephew pulled 
on the inside ; and for a moment it seemed to Jack 
that he must certainly break in two, if the struggle 
continued. It lasted but three or four seconds, and was 
over by the time Mrs. Peternot came with the candle. 
Jack succeeded first in freeing the foot held by the 
nephew, and then made such vigorous use of it that he 
quickly brought off the other. He fell to the ground, 
and scrambled away behind the bushes ; while Peter- 
not, shouting, “ Thieves ! robbers ! ” turned to the 
door, and rushed out of the house in pursuit. 

Jack heard the shout, and the opening of the door, 
and presently the ominous sound of heavy feet com- 
ing after him ! He had lost sight of Hank when he 
fell ; and now he had not the faintest idea which way 
his companions had fled. Had he paused to observe 
and listen, he might perhaps have heard their re- 
treating footsteps, or caught sight of their gliding 
forms in the darkness ; but the tall form treading 
close at his heels left him no time for consideration. 
He went plunging blindly over the wall, and heard 
the stones rattle again as his pursuer came plunging 
after him. 

The moon had not yet risen, and objects below the 
horizon were scarcely visible, — an unfortunate cir- 
cumstance for Jack, whose bare feet suffered in this 


HOW JACK TOOK TO HIS HEELS. 115 

mad race over the rough ground. Heedless of his 
hurts, however, he sped on, not in the direction of 
his own home, hut of Aunt Patsy’s house ; while 
thud , thud ! came the footsteps behind him, nearer 
and nearer, he fancied. Two or three times he turned 
his head, and there was the dim shape striding upon 
his heels, with a hand outstretched to grasp him, 
he more than once imagined. Never before would 
he have believed that the old man could run so ! 

This strange race was brought to a ludicrous close 
by a rock which lay in Jack’s way, as he was making 
for Aunt Patsy’s woods. He tripped over it, and fell 
headlong ; and over him fell his pursuer, — a sprawl- 
ing heap. 

“ Hang it ! ” said the latter, “ you come pooty nigh 
breakin’ my neck ! ” And he lay on the ground 
laughing, while Jack sprang to his feet. 


116 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

HOW THE HEELS WENT HOME WITHOUT SHOES AND 1 
STOCKINGS. 

That you, Hank ? ” 

“ Yes ! Did n’t you know me ? What in time 
made you leg it so ? I could n’t hardly keep up with 
you ! ” 

“ I took you for old Peternot ! ” said the excited 
Jack. “ I thought you got off ahead of me.” 

Upon that Hank laughed again. “I knew the 
squire would come out ; I hid by the quince-bushes 
till he showed himself, and then rushed out before 
him.” 

“ What was that for ? ” 

“ To lead him a wild-goose chase, while Cub and 
Tug got away with the money.” 

“ Where are they ? ” demanded the anxious Jack. 

“ Out of his reach, — that ’s all I know. He did 
n’t foller us but a few rods ; the old chap ’s so 
lame he can’t run wuth a cent. The idee of your 
takin’ me for him ! ” 

“ Which way did they go ? You know ! ” ex- 
claimed Jack, who was in no mood for laughing at 
this odd mistake. 

“ Mebby we shall fall in with ’em, crossin’ the pas- 
tur’,” said Hank. “ Ye need n’t be alarmed about your 


HOW THE HEELS WENT HOME. 


117 


money, if we don’t. That’ll be safe. Better keep 
that hid somewheres, till you ’re ready to dispose on ’t ; 
for there ’s no knowin’ what the old man may do. 
Leave that to me an’ Cub ; I ’ll look out for your 
interest.” 

“Tug has got my hat and shoes!” said Jack, in 
sore perplexity. 

“He’ll keep ’em safe,” replied Hank. “Heed n’t 
worry.” 

“My stockings !” exclaimed Jack. 

“ Has he got them too ? ” 

“ Ho ; I wish he had ! ” For now it occurred to 
him that the stockings, which he certainly had on his 
feet before he jumped from the window, must have 
come off in his captors’ hands when he escaped ! 

“Ho matter ; money is all right ; we can afford to 
lose a pair of stockin’s or two,” was Hank’s consola- 
tory remark. 

He failed, however, to impress this cheerful view 
of the matter upon Jack, who, bareheaded, barefoot, 
uncertain that he should ever see his money again, 
felt anything but happy over the success of his rash 
attempt. 

Hearing a low whistle not far off, Hank said, 
« That ’s them ! ” and whistled in response. “ One on 
’em, anyhow,” as a single figure was seen approach- 
ing. “ Tug ? ” 

“ Hullo ! ” said Tug. “ Where ’s Cub ? ” 

“Ain’t he with you ? ” said Hank. “ I told ye to 
keep together ! ” 


118 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ I thought we ’d better scatter, when the old man 
and the Dinks feller come after us ; one on ’em — I 
don’t know which ’t was — chased me ’bout a quarter 
of a mile.” 

“ Where are my shoes ? ” said J ack. 

“ Your shoes ? ” echoed Tug. 

“ Yes ! and my hat ? ” 

" Your hat ? ” 

" Yes ! what have you done with ’em ? ” cried 
Jack, choking with impatience and anger. 

“ 0, to be sure ! I believe I put ’em on the 
ground under the lilac-bush ; you was so long in the 
room, I got tired of holdin’ on ’em ; and darned if I 
did n’t forgit all about ’em ! ” 

Jack was incensed at this negligence. " That ’s 
the way you help a fellow, is it ? ” 

“ Did n’t we help you ? ” said Hank. " You would 
n’t have got away at all if it had n’t been for me.” 

"You!” retorted Jack; "if you had only caught 
me at first, when I was getting out of the window, I 
should n’t have had any trouble ! But you waited 
till the old man got hold of me ; and now I ’ve lost 
hat and shoes and stockings and money ! ” 

Hank answered indignantly, "Won’t you believe 
me when I tell you your money is all right ? You 
sha’ n’t be robbed of a dollar. I ’m sorry about the 
stockin’s ; but your hat and shoes you can find, I 
suppose, jest where Tug left ’em.” 

" If Tug will go with me ! ” 

" What ’s the use of two goin’ ? ” said Tug. "We ’ll 


HOW THE HEELS WENT HOME. 


119 


be lookin’ for Cub, and meet you at the corner of the 
woods.” To this Hank agreed. 

Seeing there was nothing else to be done. Jack ran 
back across the pasture to Peternot’s garden, and 
was creeping up behind the quince-trees, when he 
heard a voice, and saw a glimmer of light approach- 
ing around the corner of the house. Then appeared 
Squire Peternot, carrying a lantern, followed by his 
nephew Byron, armed with a heavy club. They were 
looking along the ground and beating the shrubbery. 
Jack didn’t know whether to run away, or lie flat 
on the grass. While he was hesitating, he heard the 
old man say, “ ’T was robbery, downright robbery ! 
House-breakin’, — a clear case ! The rogues have 
got off with their booty, but this ain’t the last on ’t, 
they ’ll find !” 

“ State-prison job,” replied the nephew, “ if I know 
anything about law. The fact that a piece of property 
is in litigation don’t justify one claimant in entering 
burglariously the premises of another claimant and 
stealing said piece of property.” 

“ I ’ll have out a s’arch- warrant,” Peternot de- 
clared, “and seize that coin wherever it can be 
found. If the deacon’s boys are mixed up in’t, 
they ’ll find it ’s a sorry business ! ” 

Jack grew faint at heart, as he watched and listened. 
The men with the lantern and club passed the win- 
dow through which he had escaped, and paused for 
a minute or more to examine the ground all about 
the lilac-bush. They found footprints, but he heard 


120 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


nothing about either hat or shoes. They then passed 
on, and the door closed behind them as they entered 
the house. 

Troubled with heavy misgivings, feeling that he 
would give almost anything to be well out of this 
scrape, Jack rose and slunk away, without attempt- 
ing to solve the mystery of the hat and shoes. He 
was no longer so anxious as he had been to get the 
money once more * into his possession ; and finding 
Hank and Tug faithful to their appointment, he said 
to them, “ When you find Cub, hide the money, 
and keep it till you hear from me.” And he told 
them of the threatened search-warrant. 

Hank swore fidelity to Jack’s interest ; and the 
wretched boy, — never more wretched in mind, in 
all his checkered life, than at that hour, — parting 
from the brothers on the border of the woods, hurried 
home, and reached Deacon Chatford’s house just as 
the moon was appearing above the eastern clouds. 
The windows were dark ; the folks had all gone to 
bed, leaving the kitchen door unfastened for him. 
He entered softly ; but as he was going up to his 
room, the voice of Mrs. Chatford called to him, “ That 
you, Jack ?” 

“ Yes ’m.” 

“ What made you so late ? ” 

“ I did n’t think it was so late,” replied Jack ; “I’m 
sorry if I ’ve kept you awake.” 

“Never mind, if you have come home all right. 
It was thoughtful in you to take off your shoes. I 


HOW THE HEELS WENT HOME. 


121 


was n’t asleep ; I could n’t help feeling anxious about 
you.” 

How kind, how good she was ! Jack, filled with a 
sense of guilt and dread, longed to go to her bedside 
and relieve his burdened heart by confessing what he 
had done. But just then the deacon spoke, in the 
impatient tone of one whose sleep had been dis- 
turbed : “ Did you bolt the door ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Well, get quiet as soon as you can. I want to 
sleep.” 

And Jack went on up the dark stairway to his 
lonely bed. 


122 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

HOW JACK WAS INVITED TO RIDE. 

Jack was up very early the next morning; and 
having put fresh stockings and a pair of old shoes on 
his scratched and bruised feet, he went out, deter- 
mined at the first opportunity to tell Mr. Chatford all 
that had occurred, and ask his advice. 

It was a little after daybreak. Mrs. Pipkin was 
making a fire as he went through the kitchen ; she 
guessed the deacon was n’t stirring yet. Jack took the 
milkpails and went into the barn-yard. The cows 
got up, one after another, stretched themselves, flirted 
their tails, and waited to be milked. He placed his 
stool beside one of them ; and there he sat milking 
in the cool of the morning, — keeping all the while 
an anxious lookout for the deacon, — when the large 
front gate rattled, and he saw a man trying to un- 
fasten it. 

“Lift it up a little,” said Jack. 

“ 0, I see ! ” The man came into the yard ; and 
Jack recognized one of the farmers of the neighbor- 
hood, named Sellick, rather popular among the boys 
as a joker and story-teller. “ Did n’t know you had 
a new way of fastening your gates over here ! ” 
And he laughed, as he did at almost everything he 
said, drawing his upper lip up to his nose, and sur- 


HOW JACK WAS INVITED TO RIDE. 


123 


rounding his little gray eyes with merry wrinkles. 
“ Where ’s the deacon, sonny ? ” 

“ My name ain’t Sonny,” replied Jack. 

Sellick laughed at that too. “ You remind me of 
Mose Chatford. Mose has got a little dry wit about 
him, sometimes. When I fust moved into the place, 
he was about twelve year old ; and one day he had his 
cousin, Syd Chatford, making him a visit, — older ’n 
he was, but a little bit of a chap ; you know little 
Syd. I had seen Mose, but I had n’t seen Syd be- 
fore ; and noticing a kind of family resemblance be- 
tween ’em, I said, ‘ Mose, is that one of your boys ? * 
meaning his folks’s, of course. But the little rascal 
stretches himself up, — pompous as could be, grave 
as a judge, — ‘ No, I ain’t a man of a family ! ’ says 
he, and walks on. Sassy, his daddy said, when I told 
him on ’t ; but I joke the boys, and I ’m willing they 
should joke me. Where ’s the deacon ? I ’ll ask 
you agin, and leave off the sonny.” 

Jack thought the deacon hadn’t got out yet. 

“ That never ’ll do, never ’ll do! Bad example, 
deacon ! Airly bird ketches the worm. I shall have 
to give him a talking to. Fie, fie, deacon ! Where ’s 
Pip, Mr. Pip, Mr. Pipkin, Mr. Philander P. Pipkin, 
Esquire ? ” the merry man rattled away. “ I ’m par- 
ticular to give all the names I ’ve heard him called by, 
so as to get an answer out of you the fust time.” 

“ I rather think you ’ll find him in the barn,” said 
Jack. 

“You think wrong this time. I know I sha’ n’t 


124 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


find him in the barn. Do you know why ? ” said the 
merry man, with his upper lip at his nose. “ Because 
I sha’ n’t go to the barn and look. Is that a good 
reason ? How long before you ’ll be through milk- 
ing?” 

“ I don’t know ; not very soon, unless somebody 
conies and helps me.” 

“ S’pose I help you. I can milk. I ’m an old hand 
at it. Never shall forgit my fust trial, though! 
Visiting my uncle — Sunday-go-to-meeting clo’es on 
— he told me to look out ; but I was a little smart- 
er ’n anybody else in the world, them days : I could 
milk! So I took holt — both hands — milked one 
stream into my vest-pocket and t’ other into my 
eye, and quit. Thought that would do for a fust 
lesson.” 

“ I don’t know why you should help me milk,” 
said Jack, as Sellick was getting a pail and stool. 

“ ’T will keep me out of mischief, while I ’m 
waiting. Satan finds some mischief still for idle 
hands to do. Which cow kicks ? I don’t want any- 
thing to do with a kicking cow. I used to have one, 
a fust-class kicker. Hit me once; thought the 
lightning had struck the haystack ! I tried tying her 
leg. Tied it to an old sleigh under the shed ; she 
kicked that to pieces. Tied it to the sill of the barn ; 
and by George ! she started to kick the barn down. 
Tied it then to an old grin’stone lying in the yard ; 
and at the fust kick she sent it like a pebble from a 
sling right over the kitchen chimbly, quarter of a 


HOW JACK WAS INVITED TO RIDE 


125 


mile at least; fell into Welby’s bog ; sunk so deep I ’ve 
never thought ’t would pay to fish it out.” 

“ What did you do with her then?” Jack asked, 
trying to forget his troubles in listening to this non- 
sense. 

“What could I do but kill her? One pail she 
kicked over full of milk, we never saw or heard of 
agin ; but Dyer’s folks, live over on the North Road, 
about a mile off, said they had quite a little 
shower of milk at their house that morning, — won- 
dered where it come from. I had a pair of boots 
made out of her hide ; but I never could wear ’em. 
I was always kicking somebody, and gitting hauled 
up for ’sault ’n’ battery.” 

Mr. Chatford now came into the yard, and saw 
with surprise his neighbor Sellick milking one of his 
cows. 

“ Have n’t you any milking to do at home, Sellick ? ” 

“ Yes, but the boys can do that. I ’ve invited Jack 
here to go and ride with me ; and I thought I would 
help him a little about his chores fust.” 

“ Go and ride ? I have n’t heard anything about 
it!” said Jack. 

“ Did n’t I mention it ? Wal, that was an over- 
sight ! ” 

“ I thought you had come to see Mr. Chatford. 
You asked for him.” 

“ Did I ? Mebby I wanted to ask him if he was 
willing you should go, — we must keep the right 
side o’ the deacon ! I left my wagon at the fence 


126 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


below here ; did n’t take it along to the gate, thinking 
Squire Peternot might want to hitch there.” 

Jack turned pale. But the deacon said, “ What 
nonsense are you up to now, Sellick ? ” 

“ What ! do you call it nonsense for a neighbor to 
come and take your boy to ride ? Here, Phin, come 
and finish this cow ; she ’s done, all but stripping. I 
would n’t begin another, Jack. We must be start- 
ing.” 

“ Squire Peternot ’s at the house, wants to see ye,” 
said Phin to his father. 

“ Come, has he ? ” laughed Sellick. “ I felt sure 
he would want to hitch to that post ! Wal, Jack ! 
me an’ you ’s got to go over to the Basin with the 
squire, on business. I ’m a constable, you know. 
Did n’t think of that, did ye •? Strip her clean, Phin ; 
it dries up a cow like Sancho, to leave a little milk in 
her bag.” 

“ Sellick ! ” cried the deacon, while Jack stood 
white and dumb with consternation, “ what ’s the 
meaning of this ? ” 

“ I ’ve a writ for the boy’s arrest,” replied Sellick. 
" Sorry for it. A little diffikilty between him and the 
squire. Nice man, the squire ! As it ’s on his own 
complaint, he thought it more properer that the boy 
should be taken before some other justice ; — a very 
nice man, Peternot ! Him and his nephew is going 
over to the Basin with us, — witnesses in the case, — 
before Judge Garty. You shouldn’t have picked a 
quarrel with the old man, my son, — nice man ! ” 


HOW JACK WAS INVITED TO RIDE. 127 

"Come, Sellick!” cried the deacon, impatiently. 
"No more joking. I can’t believe Peternot has taken 
any such step ; there ’s no ground for it ! Why, he ’s 
the party at fault, if anybody ! What ’s the charge ? ” 
" Breaking a winder, I believe,” replied Sellick, 
winking at Jack. "Mis’ Peternot thought a good 
deal of that winder. Nice old lady, Mis’ Peternot ! ” 
“ Jack ! have you been smashing their windows ? ” 
" No ! ” faltered J ack. 

And before he could catch his breath, to enter into 
explanations, the deacon exclaimed, indignantly, 
“ Where is the squire ? I ’ll see what he means 
by following up the boy in this way!” And he 
strode towards the house, more angry than Jack had 
ever seen him before. 

Sellick followed with Jack; and Phin went last, 
looking strangely excited, if not delighted, and call- 
ing to Mr. Pipkin at the barn, " Hurrah, Pip ) come 
and see the fun ! ” 


128 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTER XX. 

HOW THE SHOES AND STOCKINGS CAME HOME. 

Mrs. Chatford met her husband at the door, her 
kind face full of motherly solicitude. “ Do tell me, 
what is the matter ! He is in the sitting-room. O 
Jack ! I hope you have n’t been getting into any 
serious trouble.” 

They found the squire sitting stiffly in a straight- 
backed chair, with his horn-headed cane between his 
knees, and his hat and an odd-looking bundle on the 
floor beside him. 

“ What is all this about, squire ? ” the deacon de- 
manded, as poor Jack was brought in, face to face 
with his grim accuser. “ Have n’t you got through 
persecuting this boy ? I felt that your treatment of 
him yesterday was wholly unwarrantable, — tyranni- 
cal and unjust ; and though I thought a little differ- 
ently of it, after my talk with your nephew last 
night, still I am not satisfied, and I sha’ n’t be, till 
you have done the right thing. That he said you 
would do ; but this don’t look like it. What great 
crime has Jack committed, that you should send an 
officer of the law after him ? ” 

“ You know nothing of what you are say in’ ! ” re- 
plied Peternot. “ If you stan’ up for the boy arter 
I ’ve made my statements, you ’re not the man I take 


HOW THE SHOES AND STOCKINGS CAME HOME. 129 


you for. I believe you to be a respecter of the laws, 
and no friend of rascality. If you don’t believe 
what I say, there ’s my nephew out there in the 
wagon, ready to corroborate ; and if you won’t credit 
our words, peradventur’ you ’ll be convinced by 
this.” 


He took up the odd-looking bundle from the floor, 
untied the corners of the coarse plaid handkerchief 
that enclosed it, and pulled out a pair of stockings. 



A CONVINCING ARGUMENT. 

6* I 



130 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


which he held up and shook before the eyes of the 
wondering group. 

“ Do ye know them stockin’s, Mis’ Chatford ? ” 
“Why — sure — they — they are Jack’s stock- 
ings ! ” said the good woman, sadly puzzled to know 
how they had come into Peternot’s possession. 

“ And them shoes, — does anybody recognize ’em ? ” 
“They’re Jack’s shoes!” exclaimed Phin, having 
taken a near view, — “ his Sunday pair 1 ” 

“ Now for this hat,” said the squire, holding it up 
on the end of his cane, “ whose hat is it ? Anybody 
know the hat ? ” 

“ I believe that and the other things all belong to 
Jack,” said the deacon. “ What is the mystery ? 
Come to the point at once ! J ack, what is it ? Why 
don’t you speak ? Have you lost your tongue ? ” 

The evidence against him appeared so overwhelm- 
ing, and he really seemed to himself so guilty, — not 
because he had taken the money, but because he had 
made use of such means and such companions in ac- 
complishing his object, — that poor Jack could not 
yet utter an intelligible word in self-defence. He 
was faltering out some weak denial or excuse, when 
Peternot interrupted him : — 

“ If this ain’t enough, pull off the shoes he has on 
and look at his feet. If you don’t find some marks 
of rough treatment about the ankles, I miss my cal- 
kelation.” Sellick placed the culprit in a chair, and 
began to take off his shoes. 

“ The mystery is no mystery, Neighbor Chatford,” 


HOW THE SHOES AND STOCKINGS CAME HOME. 131 

the squire went on. “ My house was broke into and 
robbed last night. I ketched one of the thieves by 
the heels as he was jumpin’ from the winder, and 
these stockin’s come off in my hands, as he got away ; 
which he did by the help of his accomplices, though 
not till his feet and shins got some hard rubs on the 
winder-sill, as ye can see there now ! ” — Sellick at that 
moment holding up one of Jack’s legs, variegated 
with blaek-and-blue marks and bloody scratches, to 
the view of his horrified friends. 

“I found the hat and shoes under the winder, 
when I run out arter the burglars. I looked agin 
with a lantern, and found tracks too big for the shoes, 
showing he had older confederates. He had two or 
three with him, at least. I’m glad to learn that 
Moses is away, so he could n’t ’a’ been one on ’em ; 
and Phineas, his mother tells me, was in bed by eight 
o’clock.” 

“ Jack ! ” said the deacon, fixing a terrible look on 
the boy. 

“I have n’t robbed his house!” Jack broke forth, 
vehemently. “I only took what was my own. I 
took the money, which he had robbed me of before ! ” 

“ Broke into his house for it ! ” 

“ I got in.” 

“ Who helped you ? ” 

“ I can’t tell. It would n’t be fair for me to tell.” 

“ Where is the money ? ” demanded the squire. 

“ I can’t tell that, either. It was my money, and I 
took it. And I did only what your nephew, who 


32 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


knows so much about the law, advised me to do, and 
what Mr. Chatford himself said I would have a right 
to do.” 

The deacon, who was inclined to condemn the hoy’s 
fault all the more severely because he had taken his 
part before, regarded him with stern astonishment 
and displeasure. 

“ Did I ever say you would have a right to go to 
house-breaking, to get possession of what you claimed ? 
— Don’t think, Squire, that I for a moment encouraged 
the boy to any such course. I did n’t approve your 
course, I tell you frankly. I thought you ought to 
have used different means for carrying your point. 
But I don’t uphold him. I told him expressly and 
repeatedly to let the matter drop until this morning, 
when I would see you about it.” 

“ You said I would be justified in taking the money 
wherever I could lay hands on it ! ” cried Jack, now 
fully roused to speak in his own behalf. 

“ Boy ! Jack ! ” replied the deacon, regarding him 
with a look of mingled amazement, grief, and stern 
reprobation. “ Take care what you say ! Don’t 
make the matter worse by lying about it.” 

“ You said so — to — to Mrs. Pipkin ! ” said Jack, 
trying to remember what he seemed to be trying to 
invent. 

“ Did I say anything of the kind to you ? Give 
the boy the benefit of it, if I did,” said the deacon, 
turning to Mrs. Pipkin. 

“ I did n’t hear you,” replied that lady, precisely. 


HOW THE SHOES AND STOCKINGS CAME HOME. 133 

“ You did n’t say as much as I hoped you would say ; 
for you knew I had n’t words to express my opinion 
of Squire Peternot’s conduct.” 

"Good!” said Mr. Pipkin, in a low hut earnest 
voice, from the kitchen door. “ I ’in glad you said 
that ! ” 

“ And I shall say more, before the matter is settled ! ” 
said Mrs. Pipkin, compressing her thin lips. " For a 
man like Squire Peternot to come over here, and have 
Jack taken up for carrying off the money, no matter 
how he got it, is a sin and a shame ! One of the 
richest farmers in town, and a member of the church ! 
I believe you ’d follow a penny rolling down hill to 
the very edge of Tophet, and burn your fingers get- 
ting it out ! ” 

“ Good agin, by hokey ! ” said Mr. Pipkin, at the 
door. 

"Silence!”' said the deacon, authoritatively. 
" Abuse is no argument. I ’m trying to find out 
what I really said to give Jack encouragement in his 
iniquity, or to expose his lying.” 

" Perhaps it was what Mrs. Pipkin said ; he may 
have got it turned about a little,” said Mrs. Chatford, 
anxiously trying to shield the miserable culprit. 

" No, it was n’t ! ” Jack maintained stoutly. " He 
said it. I did n’t hear him, but Phin did ; Phin came 
out when I was milking and told me.” 

All eyes were now turned upon Phin ; and — either 
because he had intentionally deceived Jack, or be- 
cause, which is more probable, having confounded 


134 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


what Mrs. Pipkin said with what his father said, he 
was afraid to confess the blunder and assume his 
share of the responsibility — that treacherous-hearted 
youngster put on an air of outraged innocence, and 
exclaimed loudly, “ 0, I never said such a thing ! I 
never said a word to him about it ! Hope to die this 
minute if I did ! ” 

“You did! you know you did!” And Jack, 
driven to desperation, advanced, shaking his fist at 
Phin, and passionately accusing him of falsehood. 

“ That will do,” said Deacon Chatford. “ I ’ve 
nothing more to say. His trying to get out of the 
scrape by lying, and shifting the blame first on to me 
and then on to somebody else, seems to me worse 
than the thing itself. He must take the conse- 
quences ! ” 


JACK IN DISGRACE. 


135 


CHAPTER XXI. 

JACK IN DISGRACE. 

“ I s’pose my nag is gitting a little mite impatient,” 
remarked the constable. “ Shall we be driving along ? 
Put on your shoes, sonny ; not your Sunday-go-to- 
meeting pair ; these and the other things will have 
to go to court with you, to he put into the evidence.” 

“ Hearken to me one moment ! ” said Mrs. Chatford, 
laying one hand protectingly on Jack’s shoulder, and 
holding her husband’s arm with the other. “Both 
of you ! Don’t .be too hard on this unfortunate boy ! 
You know, husband, how he came to us ; he was the 
victim of a false accusation then. Appearances are 
often deceitful. Remember, Squire Peternot, how 
you were once on the point of having his dog shot 
for a fault which another dog had committed. We 
are all liable, under the most favorable circumstances, 
— sometimes — to make mistakes.” 

“If you think there is any mistake here, Mis* 
Chatford,” answered the squire, “ I must say you show 
a failin’ judgment.” 

“ I don’t doubt his taking the money. And I 
don’t approve of the course he took to get it, either. 
But forgive me if I say I think you drove him to it. 
It ’s the old story over again, — the rich man with 
large flocks and herds taking the poor man’s one little 


136 A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 

lamb. Much as I condemn him for breaking into 
your house, I ’d rather at this moment be in his place 
than in yours, Squire Peternot ! ” 

“Wife! wife!” expostulated the deacon, mildly; 
while Peternot stood silently champing the bit of 
mortified pride and resentment. 

“I hope to be pardoned here and hereafter, if I 
speak anything unjustly or in anger,” Mrs. Chatford 
went on ; “ but I must say what is in my heart. The 
boy has done wrong ; but consider, he is but a boy. 
Think what he was when he was brought here, 
what bad influences had been about him all his life, 
and then acknowledge that he has turned out better 
than could ever have been expected of him. He has 
been steady, industrious, truthful, well behaved, — 
as good as most boys who have had the best of train- 
ing. And now to cast him off for one offence,” ap- 
pealing to her husband ; “ you will regret it as long as 
you live, if you do ! And for you,” turning again to 
the squire, “ at your years, with your wealth, and your 
knowledge of our blessed Saviour’s teachings, to drive 
this poor, ignorant child to transgress the law in the 
maintenance of his rights, in the first place, and then 
to execute the vengeance of the law upon him with- 
out mercy, — as I said before, I ’d rather be in his 
place, in the eyes of Heaven, than in yours ! ” 
Jack, who had stood sullen, despairing, full of 
hatred and a sense of wrong, a minute before, burst 
into a wild fit of sobbing and weeping at the sound 
of these gracious words. The deacon was touched ; 


JACK IN DISGRACE. 


137 


and even Phin looked conscience-smitten, — white 
about the mouth, and scared and excited about the 
eyes, — as he thought of his share in Jack’s disgrace. 

“ Mrs. Chatford,” said Mrs. Pipkin, wiping her tears 
with her apron, “ you ’ve spoken my sentiment, and 
you ’ve spoken it better than I could, because you ’re 
a better woman ! ” 

“ So she has, by hokey ! ” added the sincere Mr. 
Pipkin. 

“ I wish you could be prevailed upon to let the 
matter rest at present, squire,” said the deacon. “ The 
boy has certainly done well, since he has been with 
us, till this unfortunate affair came up.” 

“ You have n’t known him ! ” said Peternot, strik- 
ing his heavy cane upon the floor. “ What ’s bred in 
the bone will stay long in the flesh. You can’t wash 
a black sheep white in a day. He can put on a 
smooth outside, but he ’s corrupt at heart as he ever 
was. If you could have been present with him in 
the woods yesterday ! I never heard such profanity 
from the lips of mortal man ! ” 

“ Jack ! ” said the deacon, “ do you swear ?” 

“ I swore at him ; he was robbing me ; I could n’t 
help it, he made me so mad ! ” Jack acknowledged. 

“ Then his leaguing himself with midnight ma- 
rauders, whose names he is ashamed to confess, shows 
what he is ! ” continued Peternot. “ A boy is known 
by the company he keeps.” 

“ Is n’t a man as much ? ” retorted Jack, blazing up 
again. “What company did you keep yesterday? 


138 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


"Wliat day marauders did you league yourself with, to 
get the money away from me ? Wonder if you are 
ashamed ! ” 

“Jack! Jack! don’t be saucy!” said Mrs. Chat- 
ford. 

“ Let him speak out ; then mebby you ’ll see what 
the boy is,” said Peternot, chafing with anger. “ He 
has no respect for age. He sassed me to my face yis- 
terday as you never heard the lowest blackguard on 
the canal sass another. I am amazed that anybody in 
this house should be found to excuse or stand up for 
such a profane, house-breakin’, hardened little vil- 
lain ! ” 

“ I don’t stand up for anything he has said or done 
that is wrong. But there is good in the boy, for all 
that,” cried Mrs. Chatford, in tones and with looks 
full of deep emotion, “ and that I stand up for, as I 
would wish another to stand up for a son of mine in 
his place. This may be a turning-point in the boy’s 
life. He may be saved, he can and wfill be saved, 
if we are just and charitable towards him ; but I 
shudder to think what may become of him if we cast 
him off. I fear he will go back to his old ways, and 
that his last state will be worse than his first. Then 
who will be answerable for his soul ? ” 

“I have no ill-feelin’ towards the boy,” said the 
squire, coming now to a subject which he had been 
waiting for a favorable moment to introduce. “ And 
if he will show that he repents of his inikity by ask- 
in’ pardon for his wholesale blasphemy, and abuse 


JACK IN DISGRACE. 


139 


of me in the woods yisterday, and — and — give up 
the plunder he took from my house last night, — I 
don’t know, — peradventur’ I may be prevailed upon 
to let. him off.” 

“ What do you say to that. Jack ? ” asked the 
deacon, anxious to see the matter settled. “ Come ! 
show yourself a brave, honest boy now, and the squire 
won’t be too hard on you. Give up the money, and 
he ’ll return a fair share of it to you, I ’m confident, 

— all you could reasonably expect, after the course you 
have taken to get the whole ; won’t you, squire ? ” 

“ Sartin, I ’ll be liberal with him ; though I can’t 
make any bargain with a malefactor till he names his 
accomplices and gives up his booty.” 

“And recant your falsehood about Phineas; that 
has hurt me more than anything else,” added Mr. 
Chatford, as Jack was hesitating. 

“ How can I recant what was n’t a falsehood ? ” 
replied Jack. 

“ Take care, take care, boy ! ” said the deacon, 
warningly. “ Stand here face to face with Phineas. 
How, did Phineas tell you I said you would be justi- 
fied in taking that money wherever you could find it ? 

— Did you say anything of the sort, Phineas ? ” 

“ Ho, I never opened my lips to him about it ! ” 
said Phin, with 'all the vehemence of earnest inno- 
cence. “ But mabby he imagined I did.” 

“ I did n’t imagine it ! ” cried Jack. “ Phin Chat- 
ford, you know you said it ! You are lying at this 
minute, if you say you did n’t.” 


140 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


"Jack, what motive could Phineas have to say- 
such a thing to you in the first place, or to lie about 
it now ? Your story is untrustworthy, on the face of 
it. And I beg of you to consider again ; for I can do 
nothing for you, if you persist with a lie on your lips.” 

“ It is n’t a lie. If I say I lied then, I shall be 
lying now.” 

"I have nothing more to say. Squire, I leave 
him to you.” And the deacon walked mournfully 
away. 

“ If saying I am sorry I swore yesterday in the 
woods will do any good,” Jack continued, “ I ’ll say 
it, for I am sorry. I had made up my mind never 
to swear again ; and I never should, but you drove 
me to it.” 

" Stubborn and hardened to the last ! ” said Peter- 
not. “ He is bound to find some excuse for his 
conduct, somebody to shift the blame on to. Still I 
accept his apology, such as it is. And now, if he will 
give up his ill-got plunder — ” 

"Plunder!” echoed Jack. "Was it your ill-got 
plunder when you took it away from me ? It is my 
money ; but I wish now I had never seen it, for a 
thousand times as much could n’t pay me for what I 
have lost ! She has lost faith in me,” — looking 
through his streaming tears at the retreating form of 
Mrs. Chatford, following her husband from the room, 
— " and I can never again be in this house what I 
have been. But I can’t give up the money ; I have n’t 
got it, and I don’t know where it is.” 


JACK IN DISGRACE. 


141 


“ But you know who has it ? ” Jack would not 
reply to this or to any other question tending to 
bring out the names of his accomplices ; and the 
squire, losing patience at last, exclaimed, “Well, Sel- 
lick ! I see no use of dallyin’ any longer here.” 

“ He has n’t had his breakfast yet,” said Mrs. Pip- 
kin. “ You ’ll give him a chance to eat something, I 
guess ! ” her eyes sparkling as she glanced from Sel- 
lick to the squire. 

“O, sartin ! ” said Sellick. “I never thought of 
that, having had a bite myself ’fore I started. I be- 
lieve in a full stumick. Come, sonny ! snatch a bite ; 
you ’ll feel better.” 

But Jack was too full of grief to think of food. 
“ I shall never eat anything in this house again ! ” 
he exclaimed, with short, convulsive sobs. 

Upon this, little Kate, who had been looking on 
■with wonder and sympathy, not understanding what 
the dreadful trouble was, ran up to him, and threw 
her arms about him, exclaiming passionately, “0 
Jack ! you will ! you must ! I love you, if nobody 
else does ! But we all do ! You must n’t go away ! 
You have been better to me than my own brothers ; 
they plague me, but you never do ! — 0 Mr. Peternot ! 
he ain’t a bad boy ; Jack ain’t bad ! Don’t take him 
off to jail ! ” 

But there was no help for the poor lad then. Peter- 
not was inexorable. J ack made no resistance. Mrs. 
Chatford, returning from a last fruitless appeal to her 
husband, kissed him tenderly, and said what com- 


142 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


forting words she could. Mrs. Pipkin put something 
into his pocket, as she bent over him ; and Mr. Pip- 
kin told him to keep a stiff upper lip. Kate clung to 
him with affection and wild grief. But Mr. Chatford 
did not come to bid him good by ; and he did not 
say good by to Phineas. 


JACK AND THE JOLLY CONSTABLE. 


143 


CHAPTER XXII. 

JACK AND THE JOLLY CONSTABLE. 


So Jack left the home and friends that for a brief 
season had been so pleasant and dear to him, and 
went out to take leave of another and older friend. 



GOOD BY, OLD FRIEND ! 


144 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


This was Lion. He hugged and kissed the poor, 
faithful, affectionate creature; then, sending him to 
his kennel, he said to Kate, “ See that he is taken 
good care of, won’t you ? I — if I never — ” But 
here he choked and could say no more. 

“Come along, sonny,” said Sellick. 

They walked on to the length of fence where the 
constable’s horse was hitched, mounted the wagon, 
and rode away, watched by more than one troubled 
and tearful face in the farm-house door. 

Mrs. Pipkin set about her work with more than 
the usual fury which distinguished her on Monday 
mornings ; while Mr. Pipkin went out to finish the 
milking Jack had begun. 

Phin chained Lion to his kennel, saying guiltily to 
himself, “ I ain’t to blame for his going to jail ; I 
did n’t mean to lie ; but I don’t care ! folks were get- 
ting to think more of him than they do of me ; and 
now I ’ve got his dog ! ” Still his sense of triumph 
was no more like happiness than roiled and troubled 
waters are like some pure crystal fountain. 

Mr. Chatford walked from the house to the barn 
and back again, and about the yard and stables, in an 
absent-minded way, frowning, and looking strangely 
uneasy in his mind. His wife, in the mean while, 
tried to forget her grief and anxiety in doing some- 
thing for poor Jack, — packing a portmanteau of 
such clothes as she thought he would need if he went 
to jail, putting in a few books, a pin-cushion, a box 
of Mrs. Pipkin’s cookies, which he was fond of, and 


JACK AND THE JOLLY CONSTABLE. 


145 


some cakes of maple-sugar, besides many little things 
for his comfort, or to remind him that he still had a 
friend. 

“ Now, husband !” she said, calling the deacon in to 
breakfast, “ this must go to the Basin at once, or it 
may be too late. Shall Mr. Pipkin take it, or will 
you ? ” 

“ O, well, I suppose I will ! Peternot said he 
would like to have me go over and identify the shoes 
and things ; but I hate to ! Strange the boy should 
have stuck to his lies so ! ” exclaimed the dissatisfied 
deacon. “ There ’s nothing I would n’t have done for 
him, if he’d shown a proper spirit.” And he sat 
down to eat a hurried breakfast before starting for the 
Basin. “ I don’t see how the boy is going to get out 
of this scrape ! ” 

“The best way I know o’ gittin out of a bad 
scrape,” remarked Mr. Pipkin, entering just then, 
“ an’ it ’s a way I ’ve tried many a time — ” 

“ How ’s that ? ” asked the deacon. 

“ It ’s to wake up, an’ find it ’s all a dream,” replied 
Mr. Pipkin. 

“ Ah ! I guess Jack would be glad enough to wake 
up and find this a dream, money and all ! ” said the 
deacon. 

Sellick meanwhile, as he drove away with his pris- 
oner, beguiled the time with pleasant talk. 

“ Don’t you think you ’ve been a little too hard on 
our good neighbor Peternot ? You should n’t try to 
git money away from a poor man like him, even if 
7 J 


146 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


’t is yours. A very poor man, the squire ! I don’t 
suppose he ’s wuth more ’n fifteen or twenty thousand 
dollars ; and what’s that ? If he had a hundred 
thousand, he ’d still he the poorest man in town ; for 
he hain’t got anything else but money and property 
to speak of. That ’s what makes a man poor. Now, 
there ’s Mr. and Mis’ Chatford, they would he rich 
with barely enough to live on. You might have 
robbed them, and no harm. But a poor old couple 
like the Peternots, for shame ! Then you must con- 
sider, the squire has n’t had the advantages of society, 
and a good bringing-up, and the light of the Gospil, 
and edication, that you ’ve had. You ought to pity 
him, and forgive him. Good old man, the squire I ” 

In the midst of his wrongs and grief, Jack’s keen 
sense of humor was tickled by these facetious re- 
marks, while their undertone of truth and friendliness 
warmed his heart. 

“ You ’ve heard a good deal about his son Paul,” 
Sellick went on, — “a hard case, Paul. His great mis- 
take was, he thought it his duty to he spending some 
of the money the old man was laying up. He could 
n’t see the use of a great heap of gold stored away, 
and no good times at home ; solid sunshine in the 
bank vaults, and gloom in the kitchen. So he went 
wild. The squire whipped him once, for calling him 
a fool, after he got to be twenty years old ; tied him 
up to an apple-tree ; I was going by, and heard the 
rumpus. ‘ Call yer father a fool, will ye ? when ye 
ought to say venerable father ! ’ says the old man, and 


JACK AND THE JOLLY CONSTABLE. 


147 


lays on the lash. Every five or six strokes he ’d stop 
and bawl out agin, ‘ Call yer father a fool, will ye ? 
when ye ought to say venerable father ! ’ Then, 
whack ! whack ! whack ! ‘ Call yer father a fool, will 

ye ? * over and over, till I got out of hearing. Not 
long after that the spendthrift son and the venerable 
father parted. Paul took to gambling for a living, 
and drinking for amusement, — business and pleasure 
combined. You brought the last news of him to 
town, — how he went to bed drunk one night at 
Wiley’s Basin, and set his room on fire, and was burnt 
to death, and you afterwards got his dog, that was 
singed trying to save his master. One would have 
thought the old man would feel a kindness towards 
you and the dog now, but — he ’s a poor man , as I 
said. Paul’s bad end seemed to cut him up a good 
deal for a while, but now he ’s taken home his nephew 
in his place. A plucky chap, the nephew ! There ’s 
courage for you ! Me and you now would n’t want 
to go and live with — with such poor folks, ye know, 
and feed our souls on the old man’s hard corned beef 
and the old lady’s vinegar, not for any length of 
time, just in the hope of coming into their money 
when they die, — would we? Not that I wish to 
breathe a word agin the Peternots ; dear me, no ! 
Best kind of folks in their way, though mebby 
their way is a leetle mite peculiar. Hullo ! there ’s 
some of your folks ! ” 

“ It ’s Mose ! ” said Jack, his heart swelling with a 
tumult of emotions as he thought of all that had hap- 


148 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


pened since he watched Annie and her cousin dis- 
appear in the direction from which they were now 
returning. 

“The schoolmarm with him, ain’t it? A re’l 
perty face ! See ! they know you. Shall we stop 
and talk ? ” 

“No, — yes. 0, I wish we hadn’t met them!” 
said Jack, wondering how he could bear to tell his 
dearest friend of the trouble and danger he was in, 
and take leave of her, in such a situation. 

“ Say nothing ; I ’ll make it all right,” said Sellick. 
— “ Good morning, good morning, Mose ! Good morn- 
ing, Miss Felton. You’re having an early ride this 
morning ; good for the appetite ; makes rosy cheeks. 
Me and Jack’s riding out a little for our health 
too.” 

“ It makes his eyes red, if not his cheeks,” said 
Moses. “Where ye bound, Jack?” 

“ I ’m going over to the Basin ; Mr. Sellick asked 
me to ride,” replied Jack, with a smile. “ They ’ll 
tell you all about it at the house.” 

“ Can’t talk now ; there ’s Squire Peternot in the 
buggy close behind us,” observed Sellick. “ He ’ll 
complain of us for blocking the highway, if we keep 
two wagons standing abreast here when he wants to 
pass. Fresh for your school agin, hey, Miss Felton, 
this bright Monday morning ? I wish we could keep 
you the year round. My little shavers never learned 
so fast or liked to go to school so well as they have 
this summer.” 


JACK AND THE JOLLY CONSTABLE, 


149 


“ I could n’t walk through the snow-drifts, to say 
nothing of governing the big boys,” replied Annie. 

“ I ’ll resk the big boys ! ” cried Sellick. “ You ’d 
bring them to your feet, like so many whipped span- 
iels. Then you’ll have some smart boys on your 
side, to start with, — Moses, and Jack here. — You ’ll 
go to school, I suppose, next winter ? ” 

“If I am here; I had meant to,” faltered Jack. 
While Annie’s searching eyes seemed to look into his 
troubled heart. 

“ Jack ! what is the matter ? ” she exclaimed. 

“ He may have engagements elsewhere,” said Sel- 
lick. “ In fact, a little matter of business which he 
is too modest to mention, — that’s what takes us to 
the Basin, and it may lead to his accepting a situa- 
tion. I have n’t time to explain. Good morning ! ” 
And the constable whipped up his horse just as the 
squire’s came close behind. 

“Good by!” said Jack, as bravely as he could. 
Then, his grief mastering him again, as he thought 
how different life would be to him this pleasant morn- 
ing if he had gone home with Annie in Moses’s place, 
as he might have done, he set his lips and teeth hard, 
pulled his hat fiercely over his eyes, and rode on, in 
his bodily form, to the Basin ; while his mind trav- 
elled back, and witnessed in imagination the scene at 
the house, when Miss Felton and Moses should arrive 
and learn of his crime and his disgrace. 


150 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

BEFORE JUDGE GARTY. 

Sellick drove down the main street of the village, 
past the blacksmith-shop, the meeting-house, and the 
tavern, and turned up to a hitching-post near the 
canal. Just beyond was the high bridge, beneath 
which a line-boat was passing. A wild impulse 
seized Jack, — to run for his freedom, and return to 
his old life among the rude boatmen ; for anything 
seemed to him better than going to jail. But Sellick 
said quietly, “I set a good deal by you, sonny. I 
want to keep you close by my side, for a few hours 
anyway. Don’t think of parting company with me ; 
I could n’t possibly bear you out of my sight.” 

“ If you were in my place, would n’t you want to 
part company ?” said Jack. 

“ laterally. And if you was in mine, you ’d feel 
as I do. Now I take it you ’re a sensible boy ; and 
you know you are only a boy ; while I have twice 
the strength, and can run twice as fast as you can. 
I don’t want to be obliged to tie ye ; so I hope you ’ll 
be quiet, while we are about town together. Set in 
the wagon now, while I hitch the hoss.” 

So Jack remained in the w^agon, and carefully 
watched the situation, determined to miss no oppor- 
tunity of escape that might possibly occur. The 


BEFORE JUDGE GARTY. 


151 


wagon was standing before a grocery, on the corner of 
the street and the canal. On the other side of the 
canal was another grocery, of the lowest description, 
where he had more than once seen his former master, 
Jack Berrick, fill his whiskey jug or stand and 
drink at the bar. Near by were some old canal sta- 
bles, about the doors of which three or four drivers 
were currying their horses, swearing and joking. He 
could hear their rough language to their horses and 
each other, and he thought, “ 0, I can’t go back and 
be one of them ! But 1 11 get away if I can.” 

Judge Garty’s office was in the second story of the 
building before which Sellick hitched his horse. 
“ Good arrangement,” remarked the jovial constable. 
“ Boat hands and town loafers git drunk and break 
the peace in the grocery down stairs ; take ’em to be 
fined or committed, before the judge up stairs. A 
very good business plan.” 

"I should think,” said Jack, “ ’t would be hard to 
get a drunken man up that narrow flight ; ’t would 
be more convenient if the judge had his office in one 
corner of the grocery.” 

“ A very good notion ; 1 11 suggest it to him,” said 
Sellick. “ Come now, sonny ! Bely, you must 
excuse me for calling you sonny ; it comes so 
handy” 

The “ narrow flight ” to which Jack alluded was 
a staircase built up to the second story on the out- 
side of the building. Up this the lame Peternot and 
his nephew went first; then came Jack and the 


152 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


constable, who stood on the upper landing, while 
the squire, in a narrow entry beyond, shook and 
pounded a door which appeared to be either locked or 
bolted. 

“ He ain’t here ! ” exclaimed the old man, impa- 
tiently. 

But just as Jack, keenly watching everything, be- 
gan to hope that some advantage to him might grow 
out of the absence of the magistrate, Sellick exclaimed, 
“ There he is, over the way ! He sees us.” 

On the opposite corner was a country store and 
forwarding-house, with one side on the street and the 
other on the canal ; from the door of which Jack saw 
a short-legged man hurrying towards them across the 
w 7 ay. He mounted the stairs, passed Jack and the 
constable, and unlocked with a key from his pocket 
the door which Peternot had been shaking. As he 
led the way into the office, Jack, who noticed every- 
thing, noticed that the key was left sticking in the 
lock on the outside. 

“Good morning. Walk in, gentlemen,” said the 
judge. And, seating himself before a sloping desk 
placed on a common pine table, he laid off his hat, 
exposing a big, bald head, adorned by a couple of 
light tufts of gray hair over the ears, and put on a 
pair of steel-bowed glasses, covering a pair of very 
light-colored and very weak eyes, which had a habit 
of winking constantly. 

“ A case of breaking and entering,” said Peternot, 
introducing the business. “ As ’t was my house that 


BEFORE JUDGE GARTY. 


153 


was robbed, and as I am the complainant, I thought 
it best to have the prisoner brought before you.” 

The judge winked many times at Jack through his 
glimmering glasses, examined Sellick’s warrant, wink- 
ing hard over that too, and prepared to write. By this 
time several village loungers, with their usual keen 
scent for a criminal case, began to throng the room. 

Peternot, being sworn, stated circumstantially how, 
on the previous evening, he had been interrupted 
during prayer-time by burglars breaking into his 
house, and had caught one by the heels as he was 
leaping from a window, and so forth. The bundle of 
clothes left behind was displayed; and Jack’s legs 
were about to undergo examination, when he saved 
the court that trouble by frankly confessing himself 
the person who had been caught. 

“The clothes have been identified by the Chat- 
fords,” said the squire. “ They will also, if necessary, 
be sworn to by them, when the case comes up for trial. 
So any further evidence with regard to them might 
be dispensed with, since he has confessed his crime ; 
though I told the deacon he might be wanted here as 
a witness, and I ’m expectin’ him every minute. My 
nephew will corroborate my testimony.” 

“Very well, as a mere formality; though your 
testimony is sufficient.” 

Byron Dinks having given his evidence, in the 
presence of an ever-increasing crowd of spectators, 
the judge turned to Jack, winking extraordinarily 
hard at him, and said, “ The complaint against you, 
7 * 


154 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


I suppose you are aware, is of a very grave charac- 
ter. Is there any statement you wish to make ? ” 

Winked at by the weak-eyed judge, stared at by 
the group of idle spectators, and frowned upon by 
the relentless Peternot, Jack, standing at Sellick’s right 
hand beside the desk, clutched the table with his ner- 
vous fingers, caught his breath quickly, and answered 
in a frank, firm voice, “ All I have to say is, that the 
money I took belongs to me more than it does to 
him ; and I believed I had a right to it. I found it 
in an old rotten log ; and he had robbed me of it be- 
fore I took it from him. I did n’t think it was house- 
breaking when I got into his window ; the window 
was open ; it was broken accidentally when I was 
getting the money out.” 

“ I ’ll say here,” interposed Peternot, “ what I ’ve 
said to the boy before, that if he will give up his 
booty and name his accomplices, — though I know 
perty well who they be, — I ’ll accept his apology, and 
withdraw my complaint.” 

“ That ’s a fair proposition,” said Judge Garty, “ and 
both as a friend and a magistrate I advise you to take 
up with it. You are young ; there appear to be really 
some extenuating circumstances in the case, and it 
seems hard that you should be punished.” 

“ It is hard ! ” said Jack, his voice heaving, but 
not breaking. “ I never had a chance for myself till 
just a few weeks ago ; and I meant to make the most 
of it, — I meant to do right, and be honest and true ; 
and now this is what it comes to ! But I can’t give 


BEFORE JUDGE GARTY. 


155 


up what he calls my booty.” His eyes flashed out 
proudly and defiantly : there was something in his 
look that said, “ I can be wronged, I can be trampled 
on, but I won’t give in to the tyrant!” “If the 
money is what he wants of me, he won’t get it. I ’ll 
go to jail, if I must.” 

The magistrate winked, the spectators stared, and 
Peternot frowned, harder than ever. After writing 
a few words, Judge Garty looked up again and said, 
“ I don’t see but what I shall have to bind you over.” 

Jack, who had never heard the legal term before, 
turned to Sellick with a bewildered look. “ Bind me 
over ? I have n’t been bound at all yet ! ” 

There was a general titter at his expense ; and 
Sellick laughingly replied : “He means, you must 
give bonds ; that is, get somebody to pledge a certain 
sum of money that you won’t run away, but that 
you ’ll appear for trial when your case comes up be- 
fore the county court.” 

“I know!” said Jack, blushing. “That’s what 
you call bailing a fellow.” 

“Exac’ly ! Now if you can git bail, you ’ll be let 
off till you ’re wanted for trial. But if you can’t, you 
must stand committed, — that is, go to jail and wait 
there till you ’re wanted.” 

Judge Garty conferred in low tones with Squire 
Peternot, — whom J ack overheard to mutter, “ Hard- 
ened little wretch ! desperate character ! ” and then 
announced that he had fixed the amount of the re- 
quired bonds at five hundred dollars. 


156 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“Do you know anybody who will be security for 
you ? ” he asked, winking at the prisoner. 

Jack thought of Mr. Chatford, — but Mr. Chatford 
had lost faith in him, and could not be expected now 
to show him any favors. So he answered, faintly, 
“No, sir.” And the judge resumed his writing. 


THE PRISONER’S CUP OF MILK. 


157 


CHAPTEK XXIV. 

THE PRISONER’S CUP OF MILK. 

The prisoner looked anxiously at the door, and 
about the room, and after a little reflection said to 
the constable, “ I ’m kind of hungry. Can’t I have 
some breakfast ? ” 

“ Where ’s the lunch Mis’ Pipkin tucked into your 
pocket ? ” said Sellick. “ Here it is, all right. She 
knew you would come to your appetite.” 

Jack had hoped to be taken down into the grocery, 
and at the moment he did not thank Mrs. Pipkin for 
her kindness. 

“ Can’t I have something to drink with it ? ” he 
asked. “ They have milk in the grocery ; I can pay 
for a cupful.” And he took from his pocket the soli- 
tary half-dollar, which was all the riches he could 
command, out of the hoard of treasure he had found 
so lately, and lost, and regained, and perhaps lost 
again forever. 

“ Here, sonny ! ” said Sellick to a boy in the crowd 
(every boy was “ sonny ” to him), “ take this money 
and go down into the grocery and buy a cup of milk, 
and bring back the change, and you shall have a 
penny for your trouble. And be spry, for we must 
eat our breakfast while the judge is making out his 
papers.” 


158 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


The lad took the money and, pushing through the 
crowd of loungers, passed the door, and went down 
the outside stairs at a rattling pace, the sound of 
which filled the heart of the waiting prisoner with 
envy. 

Jack looked about him, nibbling his dry biscuit 
and butter, and saw that there was only one other 
door in the room, and that it was nailed, with a bar 
across it. There were three windows, one on the side 
of the street near the entry dooi, the other two over- 
looking the canal. He was still nibbling and study- 
ing the premises, when the lad returned. 

“ I hope this ain’t canal milk,” said J ack with a 
laugh, as he pocketed the change and took the cup, 
after giving the lad his penny. “They sell horrid 
stuff to the boats sometimes, — mostly chalk and 
canal-water, I believe.” He poised the cup, still 
munching the dry biscuit, and glanced furtively at 
the door. The loungers had not yet begun to leave, 
and there was a crowd in the way. 

Sellick was saying to a village acquaintance, “I 
never yit lost a prisoner, and I never expect to lose 
one ; and I never yit was afraid to take a man. Not 
one in fifty can run as fast as I can, and once I git 
holt of a chap, I jest freeze to him ; ’t would take a 
perty good set of muscles to shake me off, and a 
mighty long head to outwit me. — Come, sonny, drink 
yer milk ; judge is shaking the sand on his paper.” 

Jack lifted the cup to his lips, and began to drink, 
but stopped suddenly, and, with his mouth full and 


THE PRISONER’S CUP OF MILK. 


159 


his cheeks distended, made sounds and motions of 
distress, as if about to eject the liquid. 

“ Sour ? ” cried Sellick. 

“ ’M ! ’m ! ” said J ack, through his nose ; and with 
milk spilling from the cup and spirting from his lips, 
he started for a window ; while the crowd, laughing 
at his ludicrous plight, and anxious to avoid a sprink- 
ling, made way before him. 

It was the window on the side of the street, and it 
was closed. While Sellick, laughing with the rest, 
was stepping quickly to help him open it, Jack, be- 
ginning to choke, and appearing quite unable to con- 
trol himself longer, started for the door. The mirth- 
ful constable — who had never yet lost a prisoner 
and never expected to lose one — turned to follow 
him, rather leisurely, pausing to laugh at Mr. Byron 
Dinks, who had received some conspicuous splashes 
of milk on his black broadcloth. 

Jack took hold of the door, as if to steady himself, 
then, in an instant, darting through, pulled it after 
him (just missing Sellick’s lingers), turned the key on 
the outside, went down the stairway with flying 
leaps, and ran as for his life ; leaving court, constable, 
witnesses, and spectators locked up in the room to- 
gether, prisoners in his place, with abundant leisure 
to find something to laugh at besides him and his 
spilled milk ! 


160 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTER XXY. 
jack’s prisoners. 

Weak-eyed Judge Garty, having sanded the war- 
rant by which Jack was to have been conveyed to 
jail, and winked hard over it for about fifteen seconds 
(giving at least six winks to the second) to see that 
it was all right, shook it in the air at the empty 
space occupied a moment before by the jolly con- 
stable. 

“ Here ! Sellick ! where are you ? Here ’s our 
mittimus ,” he was saying, when occurred the pleas- 
ant little catastrophe related in our last chapter. 

The room was filled with confusion in an instant, 
sounds of men laughing, crying out, rushing to and 
fro, and clamoring at door and window. 

“What’s the matter?” called Squire Peternot, 
in a loud, stern, voice. “ Where ’s the constable ? 
where ’s the prisoner ? ” 

“ Gone ! ” answered somebody in the crowd. 

“Gone?” cried Judge Garty, rising to his feet, 
still shaking his paper and winking blindly. “He 
can’t go without our warrant ! Sellick knows better ’n 
that ! ” 

“ But the boy don’t ! ” cried Sellick, running to the 
table. 

“ The boy ! ” echoed Peternot ; “ where is he ? ” 


JACK’S PRISONERS. 


161 


“ Gone — got away — took leg-bail,” answered 
several voices at once, in the general tumult. “ He ’s 
left his hat, though ! ” 

“ Why ain’t you — why don’t somebody — ketch 
him ! ” gasped out Peternot, striding towards the 
door. 

“ Screw-driver ! pair of shears ! anything ! ” said 
Sellick, searching the table, “ to force the lock ! ” 

“The lock? the lock? ” said the judge, like one 
just waking from sleep in a strong light. 

“ Yes, man ! ” said Sellick, unable to take an al- 
together serious view of even so serious a matter; 
“ boy has gone for more milk ; ’fraid he would n’t 
find us here when he got back, so he turned the 
key ! Tongs ! ” And he sprang to the empty fire- 
place. 

Peternot reached the door, and found his nephew, 
Mr. Byron Dinks, standing beside it in a comical 
attitude. 

“ Why don’t you open ? ” cried the squire, putting 
on his hat. 

“ Can’t open ! ” answered Byron. 

“ Stand away then ! ” 

“ Can’t stand away ! ” 

“ What ’s the reason you can’t ? ” roared the impa- 
tient old man, seizing Byron by the shoulder. 

“ Door is locked — I’m caught — coat-tail shut 
in ! Look out ! you ’ll tear ! ” said Byron, anxiously 
holding the hinder part of his garment with one 
hand, and his uncle’s arm with the other. 


K 


162 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ I should think ye was all a pack of fools ! ” ex- 
claimed the squire, pushing on to the now open win- 
dow, where he found several heads in advance of his 
own. “ Le’ me come ! make way here ! Why don’t 
somebody in the street ketch him ? ” 

“ The’ ain’t nobody in the street ! ” giggled a 
youngster, taking in his head to make room for Peter- 
not. “ All the loafers are in here ! ” 

Pressing forward, cane in hand, shouting, and 
thrusting several of the said loafers aside, Peternot 
reached the window, and, in attempting to put his 
head out, smashed his hat very neatly and thoroughly 
over his eyes. Having then with much ado got his 
head first out of the hat and then out of the window, 
he began to bellow forth, “ Help ! ho ! fire ! ” And 
he whacked the clapboards outside with his stout 
cane. “Where is everybody?” 

The testimony of the youngster as to all the vil- 
lage loafers being locked up in the room, was so 
near a literal fact, that not until this moment did 
anybody appear in answer to the cries from the win- 
dow. But now three or four persons came running 
over the canal bridge, two or three out of the store 
opposite, and as many from the tavern up the street ; 
while a fat little man rushed out of the grocery be- 
low, and turning up a face, round and red as a newly 
risen full moon, at the judge’s office window, screamed 
in a hoarse voice, “ What ’s the row up there ? ” 

“ Which way did that boy go ? ” demanded Peter- 
not. 


JACK’S PRISONERS. 


163 


“ What boy ? ” was answered back from the crowd 
that began to assemble below. 

“ Sellick’s prisoner ! Eun for him, some of you ! 
He has locked us all in here ! Hurry, and let us 
out ! Help ! ho ! ” And again the old man smote 
the resounding clapboards. 

He had put on his hat once more ; and now, acci- 
dentally knocked off by striking the window-sash, it 
fell, and meeting the arm and cane as they were 
rising vigorously to give the clapboards another 
blow, it flew in the air, sailed down by the corner 
of the grocery, and alighted softly and gently in the 
canal. 

" Hurry ! ” repeated the squire, falling into some 
slight incongruities of speech in consequence of his 
very great excitement. “ Ketch the door ! Open 
the boy ! Pick up — heavens and airth ! — pick up 
my hat ! ” 

Some hastened up stairs to the office door, to find 
that the escaping prisoner had seriously complicated 
the difficulties of the situation by carrying off the 
key. Others, dashing around corners, stared up and 
down the streets, and under the bridge, and up and 
down the canal, and into various dark places, in- 
cluding a pig-sty, Sellick’s wagon-seat, and an old 
molasses-hogshead half filled with rain water, stand- 
ing under the eaves, without making any noteworthy 
discoveries. In the mean while a boatman on a 
passing scow drew Peternot’s hat out of the water 
with a pike-pole, and reached it to somebody, who 


164 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


placed it on the wooden head of a short post, well 
grooved by the friction of cables, where it was left to 
drip and dry. 

“ Bring a ladder ! a ladder ! ” vociferated Peternot. 
The crowd below repeated, “ Ladder ! ladder ! ” and 
ran off in various directions to find one. 

And now a man in a buggy was observed whipping 
his horse rather fast down the main street of the 
village. 

“ It ’s the deacon ! ” cried Peternot. “ May be he 
has seen him ! ” 

It was Mr. Chatford indeed, who, perceiving signs 
of commotion at the bridge, urged on old Maje’s paces 
at as high a speed as that tired and faithful animal 
could well make after his unusual morning’s exercise 
with Mose and Annie Felton, and arrived on the 
spot just in time to be in the way of four or five 
ladders that came together from as many different 
directions. Maje turned to avoid one, and, being hit 
in the nose by another, backed the buggy upon some 
boys who were bringing a third. Men at the same 
time came running with fire-buckets and cries of 
“ Fire ! ” 

At last, after one ladder had been set up and found 
too short, another was erected in such haste over it 
that it broke the window, and also came near break- 
ing Peternot’s head. And now, just as this mode of 
egress from the room was established, Sellick suc- 
ceeded in forcing the obstinate lock. This was 
hardly done when a ragged little shaver in the street. 


JACK’S PRISONERS. 


165 


who had been trying for a long while to tell his little 
story, managed to make himself heard. 

“ I feen him wun and fow fumfin in here ! ” pla- 
cing his little hand on one of the lower hoops of the 
aforesaid molasses-hogshead, to enforce his meaning, 
— that he had seen Jack run and throw something 
in there. 

This speech being at last understood and partly 
credited, the hogshead was tipped and the water 
emptied out ; and there, sure enough, was Judge 
Garty’s office-door key, found just after the lock was 
forced and the useless ladder was sent crashing against 
the unlucky window. 

But the child could give no information as to the 
way the fugitive had gone. Neither could Deacon 
Chatford, who now heard with astonishment how 
Jack had outwitted the witty constable, and turned 
the key on the court. 

“ The rogue ! ” said the deacon. “ He ought not 
to have taken such a desperate course as that ! ” Yet 
somehow he was n’t sorry. Riding over to the Basin, 
he had been greatly disturbed in his mind at the 
thought of Jack’s going to jail, and had seriously 
questioned whether it was not his duty to offer bail 
for him. He was a kind-hearted man, as we know ; 
but he had lost faith in the boy’s integrity; and 
it was a relief to him to learn that the question of 
bail was settled. “ Why, Sellick ! ” he cried, “ what 
have you been about ? ” 

The lately imprisoned crowd came laughing down 


166 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


the stairway to the street, Sellick laughing with the 
rest, though rather foolishly. He carefully folded 
Judge Garty’s warrant, and stuck it into the lining 
of his hat, remarking, “ f It may come in play some 
time,’ as the stingy man said when he laid away the 
bad egg in his cupboard.” Then stooping to pick up 
a bruised tin cup which lay at the foot of the stairs, 
“ That’s an honest boy, deacon! He paid for the 
milk, and he left the cup. — This belongs to you, I 
believe,” handing it to the little fat grocer. “ It looks 
like a good cup, and the milk may have been good 
milk, but the boy, I ’m free to say, did n’t seem to be 
satisfied with it. — Now what ’s to be done, squire ? 
There ’s no use crying for the article arter it ’s spilt, 
ye know.” 

The bareheaded old man strode past him, frowning 
prodigiously, and, taking his hat from the post, all 
wet as it was, put it on. 

“Get track of your prisoner and take him!” he 
said impatiently. “ What do ye stand dawdling here 
for ? Somebody must have seen him ! ” 

That was true enough. Eeports were even then 
eoming in of a youth whom women washing at their 
back doors had observed leaping fences and running 
fast across gardens and fields, away from the village. 
And now came shouts from ' down the canal, which 
drew the whole crowd in that direction. 


THE OWNER OF THE POTATO PATCH. 


167 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE OWNER OF THE POTATO PATCH, AND HIS DOG. 

Passing the corner of the block, where he dropped 
Judge Garty’s key into the hogshead of water, Jack 
slipped into a short, narrow alley, and turned down a 
back street which brought him quickly to the shore 
of a broad mill-pond, where it stopped. He then 
took to the fields. 

He got on very well until, as he was crossing a 
potato patch, he saw, only a few rods ahead of him, a 
man going up from the shore of the pond, followed by 
a savage-looking dog. It was our old acquaintance 
and Jack’s enemy, Duffer,* a thick-set, red-faced, 
black- whiskered teamster, almost the last man Jack 
would have wished at that moment to encounter. 

He stopped running, but kept on at a fast walk, 
still hoping to pass the man and his dog without 
trouble. He was bareheaded, having left his hat 
behind in the court-room. That circumstance was 
alone sufficient to excite attention ; and Duffer looked 
sharply at him. 

“ Go back there ! ” 

“ I ’m in a hurry, I can’t go back,” said Jack, con- 
tinuing to walk on. 

* See Jack Hazard and his Fortunes, Chapters XXIII. and 
XXIV. 


163 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ You ’re on my land ! you can’t cross here ! ” 

“ I can cross farther up, then.” 

“ No, ye can’t ! ” said Duffer, brandishing a long 
black whip which he had been trailing behind him. 
“ I owns this ’ere land, from the pond to the street. 
Go back the way you come, or I lets my dorg on to 
ye!” 

“I want to pass, and it ’s as far going back to 
get off your land as it is going on,” said Jack, anx- 
iously ; for he could hear the shouts in the village, 
and he feared that pursuers were already on his 
track. 

“ You don’t cross this ’ere tater patch ! ” said Duffer, 
furiously. “ I know ye ! Ye had a hand in killing 
my t’ other dorg ! ” 

“ No, I did n’t,” said Jack. u He was killed in a 
fair fight with my dog, — ask Grodson ! Let me go 
on, and I never ’ll set foot on your land again.” 

And he was going on. Then the ruffian said, 
“ The dorg ’ll take ye ! Look alive, Bull ! ” 

Jack, growing desperate, screamed back, “ Let your 
whelp come ! ” and turned to face the brute. 

“ Sick ! ” said Duffer, cracking his whip, and the 
dog started. 

Jack had in his hand a slender stick which he had 
picked up crossing the fields. Duffer laughed at it. 
“ My dorg won’t mind a switch like that ! Go in, 
Bull ! ” 

But Jack had no thought of defending himself by 
striking blows with so slight a weapon. His long 


THE OWNER OF THE POTATO PATCH. 169 

experience on the canal had taught him, as he after- 
wards said, “ a trick worth two of that.” 

Boldly facing the cur as he came hounding towards 
him, he grasped the stick firmly near the ends with 
both hands, and, lifting it horizontally, held it before 
him, about as high as his breast. Bull, as Jack had 
expected, leaped up and seized it with his teeth ; in 
which exposed position he received full in his stom- 
ach so sudden and well-directed a kick from Jack’s 



“A TRICK WORTH TWO OF THAT.” 

8 


170 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


heavy farm-shoe, that he loosed his hold and rolled 
over, yelping, on the ground. 

“ Sick him ! go in ! tear him ! ” roared Duffer, run- 
ning to the rescue. 

The “dorg,” however, had had his courage quite 
kicked out of him with his breath, and nothing could 
induce him to renew the attack. Whining and limp- 
ing, or rather crawling, he slunk back to his master, 
who gave him another fierce command to “ go in ” and 
“sick,” and lastly a sharp cut with the snake-like 
lash, which merely sent him yelping in the opposite 
direction. Then Duffer, infuriated, advanced upon 
Jack, flourishing his whip, exactly in the way the 
boy had persisted in going. 

Jack thereupon turned back. Duffer followed him. 
Jack began to run, and then Duffer began to run. 
Jack went tumbling over the fences, and Duffer 
went tumbling over the fences after him. Jack ran 
for liberty at first, but soon he began to run from the 
whip; while at each moment, as he gave signs of 
failing courage, Duffer’s rage and thirst for vengeance 
increased ; for nothing so excites the valorous fury of 
your genuine bully, as the appearance of faint-hearted- 
ness in a foe. 

Beyond the street, Jack kept the shore of the pond 
where it swept around towards the canal. He now 
regretted not having taken that course in the first 
place, yet he had avoided it for a good reason ; there 
was the waste-wear in his way. 

The “ heel-path ” side of the canal was narrowed 


THE OWNER OF THE POTATO PATCH. 171 

here to a high and steep embankment ; into this 
was set a waste-gate in a frame of strong timbers ; 
and over the gate and the timbers the canal poured 
its surplus waters in a shining cascade that fell into 
the pond below. This was the waste-wear, crossed 
by a single foot-plank, in full view of the village and 
of the canal, for half a mile up and down. Quite 
near the gate, its arched top visible at the base of 
the embankment, was a culvert for the pond water, 
which there flowed under the canal into a mill-race 
on the other side. 

Towards this conspicuous if not very dangerous 
place, the hatless Jack, driven back by Duffer, now 
ran with all his might. Once across the waste-wear, 
he could still hope to baffle pursuit in the orchards 
and woods beyond. But Duffer was too swift for 
him ; and, feeling his own strength giving out, and 
the avenger of the “ dorg ” fast gaining on him, Jack 
stooped and caught up from the flat, goose-nibbled 
and goose-trampled pond-shore the only available 
missile in sight. Then, like David defying the 
giant of Gath, he turned, with upraised, menacing 
arm. 

“ Come on,” he cried, “ and I send this at your 
head!” 

It could not have proved a very formidable projec- 
tile, being nothing but a dirty goose-egg, but it served 
his purpose for the moment ; Goliath, mistaking it 
for a stone, stopped and prepared to dodge or re- 
treat. 


172 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ Don’t ye chuck that rock at me! I’ll drownd 
ye in that water if ye do ! ” 

“ Keep your distance, then,” commanded J ack, 
hacking off. 

He used often to laugh, in later years, at the ludi- 
crous spectacle of the big-whiskered ruffian brought 
to a stand and put in fear by a goose-egg ; hut he 
had no leisure for laughing at the time. For now 
the uproar in the village, which had seemed to 
be subsiding, burst forth afresh in sudden cries of 
“ Ketch him ! ketch that hoy ! ” and, looking quickly 
around, he saw a scattered crowd of men and young- 
sters running out of the village directly towards 
him. 

Then Jack felt that his chance of escape was 
small ; his breath was spent, and here were fresh pur- 
suers on his track ! In his rage, remembering that 
he might now have been a mile away had it not been 
for Duffer, he paused, before once more taking to 
flight, and discharged the goose-egg at his enemy. 
Long practice with pebbles and stones on the tow- 
path, in the days when he was a driver, had made 
him a good shot ; wrath nerved his arm ; the mark 
was near, and by no means small ; and the result was 
satisfactory. He whirled and ran, leaving Duffer 
half stunned, staggering and spluttering and spitting, 
mouth, heard, and bosom variegated and dripping 
with the mixed yellow and white of the egg, which 
had struck and hurst, like a bombshell, full in his 
face. 


THE OWNER OF THE POTATO PATCH. 173 

Jack felt that the egg was suspiciously light, and 
anybody within half a dozen rods might have heard 
it pop ; but it was Duffer who had the strongest evi- 
dence of the vile and gassy character of its contents. 
Blowing and snorting, he rushed down to the pond in 
order to purify himself, while Jack fled. 


174 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTEK XXVII. 

THE RACE, AND HOW IT ENDED. 

The crowd came streaming out of the back streets 
of the village, not less than twenty or thirty men and 
hoys, some intent on joining in the chase, while the 
rest were actuated only by an eager desire to witness 
the sport. It was not often that the lees of life in 
the quiet Basin were stirred by so exciting an inci- 
dent as the locking up of a court-room full of town 
officials and idle spectators, and the escape of a pris- 
oner ; and it was natural that a lively interest should 
he felt in the end of the little romance. 

About half the crowd, thinking Duffer had received 
a terrible wound in the head (mistaking the yolk of 
the egg for blood), ran down to the pond-side, where 
they found a large flock of geese already gathered 
about him, hissing and cackling at him, with out- 
stretched necks, in a noisy and vivacious fashion, 
while he scraped and washed himself, and with occa- 
sional angry dashes tried to drive them away. The 
rest of the crowd followed Jack ; and soon those who 
had drawn near the disabled combatant, perceiving 
the comical character of his injuries, turned laughing 
away, with the geese, and hurried to enjoy the more 
exciting scene at the waste-gate. 

Among Jack’s pursuers was one who, although a 


THE RACE, AND HOW IT ENDED. 175 

little later at the start than many, soon by diligent 
nse of his legs and arms worked his way into the 
foremost rank, and at last took the lead. This was 
Sellick. If not absolutely the best runner of the 
crowd, he had certainly the best reasons for running. 
He had not only lost a prisoner, but lost him under 
peculiar and ludicrous circumstances. And although 
the jolly constable was a great joker himself, he did 
not surpassingly relish a joke of which he was the 
victim. He was well aware that the fact of his hav- 
ing been outgeneralled by a boy would be cherished 
as a standing jest against him as long as he lived ; 
but if he could retort, that he secured the runaway, 
and after all took him to jail, that would be some 
comfort. So he put forth his strength, and tried the 
speed of his limbs ; doing then and there such extraor- 
dinary running, in the sight of the huzzaing arid 
laughing villagers, that it passed into a proverb, and 
I remember hearing many years after an old farmer 
say of a cow that once got away from him as he was 
leading her home, “ She run like Sellick arter Jack 
Hazard!” 

Much of the huzzaing, I am happy to record, was 
for Jack. Men naturally sympathize with the weaker 
party in a struggle, provided they have no personal 
interest in it. Peternot was by no means popular.; 
few cared for Sellick, except as a wag, whom it was 
fun to see circumvented ; while, on the other hand, 
there was a general feeling that Jack, by his shrewd- 
ness and spirit, well deserved his freedom. So those 


176 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


who were first in the chase finally gave it up, and 
fell back as spectators, leaving to the constable alone 
the glory of recapturing his prisoner. 

“ Go it, little one ! Put in, limber legs ! ” came to 
Jack’s ears across the corner of the pond, with many 
an encouraging shout and loud laugh. “ Streak it ! 
legit! You ’ll win!” 

But there were many remarks of a less cheering 
nature, which he did not hear. 

“ It ’s no use ! Sellick ’ll have him ’fore he gets to 
the waste-wear ! ” said a shoemaker who had just left 
his bench and run out with his leather apron on. 

“ If he could only cross the waste-wear and pull 
up the plank behind him ! ” observed the tavern- 
keeper. 

“ He can’t do that ; plank is spiked down,” replied 
a young journeyman carpenter. “ But he might 
pitch Sellick off as he goes to cross after him, — if 
he only had a long pole ! ” 

“ He ’s about heat out ; see how Sellick gains on 
him ! ” cried Byron Dinks, clapping his hands. 
“ He ’ll have him ! he ’ll have him ! ” 

“ I declare, it seems too bad ! ” said Deacon Chat- 
ford, coming down to the shore. “ Poor Jack ! he has 
said so much about having a chance for himself, and 
now ! ” 

“ He has no chance with Sellick ! ” exclaimed By- 
ron Dinks, gleefully. “ He ’s got him ! He ’s headed 
him off! He’s— Oh!” 

The deacon echoed, “ Oh ! ” and the throng of spec- 


THE RACE, AND HOW IT ENDED. 


177 


tators broke forth in a chorus of excited oh's and ah's, 
and other exclamations of astonishment. 

What had happened was this. 

Jack, finding himself no match for the constable, 
believed that his only hope lay in reaching the canal 
and crossing to the tow-path. Being a good swim- 
mer, he might gain some slight advantage by that 
manoeuvre ; while it seemed quite impossible for 
him to escape over the waste-w r ear. He reached the 
embankment, and went panting and staggering up 
the steep side ; while Sellick mounted easily a rod or 
two nearer the village, and was at the top before him. 
This movement drove Jack on towards the waste- 
wear ; but Sellick, it was plain to see, would be there 
first also. 

“ You run well, sonny ! ” laughed the constable ; 
“ but you ’re beat ! ” 

“ Hot yet ! ” Jack cried. And, attempting to run 
back down the embankment, he found himself on a 
steep and dangerous place over the culvert. 

“ Give up, give up, sonny ! ” said Sellick, working 
carefully down towards him from the top of the em- 
bankment. “ Come ! then we ’ll go to the grocery 
and have another drink of milk, ’fore we take that 
little ride together. I guess we can find some better 
milk this time ! Look out ! you ’ll fall ! ” 

“ I don’t care if T do!” exclaimed Jack, groping 
farther and farther down, as the constable ventured 
nearer. “ Before I ’ll let you take me — ” 

At that moment his foot appeared to slip ; he 

8* L 


178 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


seemed to make a feeble attempt to regain his bold, 
then, to avoid a dangerous fall, he threw himself clear 
of the masonry, and tumbled headlong into the water. 
It was the fall and the splash that drew forth the 
aforesaid exclamations from the spectators. 

Sellick ran back to a safe place, and descended 
quickly to the edge of the pond, just in time to see 
Jack come up once, gasp, turn heavily in the water, 
and sink again. The jolly man was serious for 
once. 

“ Help ! ” he called. “ I vum, the boy is drownd- 
ing ! ” 

There was a great rush to the spot; but, as is 
usually the case at such times, nobody seemed to 
know what to do. Some cried, “ Bring a rope ! ” 
others, “ Get a pole ! ” but neither pole nor rope was 
brought ; nor would either have been of the least use, 
as the event proved. 

Jack had fallen in deep water at a distance of 
several yards from any standing-place near the cul- 
vert. It was the intention to reach out something 
for him to lay hold of when he should rise in sight 
again. But, strange to say, good swimmer as he was, 
he did not reappear. 

What had become of him we shall perhaps learn 
in the course of a chapter or two. 


The End of the Race. 

























































THE SEARCH, AND HOW IT ENDED. 


179 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE SEARCH, AND HOW IT ENDED. 

Constable Sellick was not a man devoid of feel- 
ing, for all his merry disposition. He stood gazing 
anxiously at the water, shading his eyes from the sun 
reflected in it ; then, as Jack did not come up a second 
time, the worthy man was filled with consternation. 

“ Who are the good swimmers here ? ” he cried. 
“ Go in after him, some one ! You can dive, Len 
Edwards'!” 

"But I can’t dive like Jack Hazard,” answered 
Len. “ I ’ve seen him in the water with the Chatford 
boys. There ’s nothing he can’t do in the water.” 

“ His breath was most likely beat out of his body, 
striking the surface,” observed Mr. Byron Dinks. “ A 
man may strike the water in such a way, it will be 
like falling flat on a rock.” And Byron picked his 
teeth with a stem of dry grass from the bank. 

“ I ’ll go in if Harry Pray will,” said Len. 

“ Well ! I ’ll go if you will,” replied Harry. And 
in the midst of the general excitement and confusion, 
these two enterprising young men began to undress. 

Before either was prepared for a plunge, however, a 
third young man, who had just arrived on the spot 
and learned that a boy was drowned, leaped out of 
his clothes as if by magic ; while the word ran through 


180 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


the crowd, “ Percy Lanman ! It ’s Percy Lanman ! 
He can get him ! ” 

“Take away that rail!” shouted a clear, ringing 
voice. 

The rail, which somebody had brought, and which 
Sellick was poking ineffectually about in the deep 
place where he had seen Jack go down, was quickly 
withdrawn ; and the owner of the voice, white and 
gleaming as a living statue, sprang from the bank ; 
a plash and a flash, and he had disappeared in the 
sparkling water. 

He was gone about fifteen seconds, which appeared 
almost as many minutes to some of those who watched 
with intense interest for his reappearance. At length 
he came up again, shook the water from his dripping 
head and winked it from his eyes, and looked about 
him while he took breath. 

“If he can’t find him we can’t,” observed Len, 
starting to put on his clothes again. 

“I’m going in, anyhow,” replied Harry, moving 
towards the water. 

“ If you do I will,” said Len. 

“No discoveries ?” cried Sellick, anxiously. 

Percy did not reply, but thrusting his head once 
more beneath the surface, swam slowly about with 
his eyes open, gazing into the sunlit depths. 

Deacon Chatford groaned. “ This is a sad business, 
Squire Peternot ! ” 

“ He should n’t have tried to escape an officer of 
the law ! ” was Peternot’s stern reply. 


THE SEARCH, AND HOW IT ENDED. 181 

“ There ’s no boy here ! ” Percy Lanman now an- 
nounced, just as Len and Harry were going in. 

“ ’T ain’t possible ! ” exclaimed Sellick. 

“ 1 s^e of it ! ” said Percy. “ Wait a minute, 
and I ’ll tell you where he went.” 

Down he plunged again ; fifteen seconds passed — 
thirty seconds — a minute ; still he did not reappear. 
Suddenly Harry Pray, as he was swimming about, 
heard a hollow splashing sound, and shouted, “ He ’s 
in the culvert ! Percy ’s in the culvert ! ” 

“ That ’s where the boy has gone ! ” exclaimed 
Squire Peternot. 

“ I thought of that!” said Sellick. “ But there’s 
no current, the mill ain’t going, and he fell at least 
a dozen feet from the opening.” 

Percy now came swimming leisurely out of the cul- 
vert ; making for the bank, he there proceeded to put 
on his clothes. 

“ Ho,” said he, laughing, as Sellick questioned him, 
“ the boy could n’t have floated into the culvert. 
But he went in just as I did, — swimming under 
water. And it’s my opinion, if you want to find 
him, you ’d better look for him on the other side of 
t.he canal.” 

“ Pooled again, Sellick ! ” said the journeyman car- 
penter. And the cry went through the crowd, 
u Jack ’s got away ! he has gone through the culvert 
under the canal !” 

Sellick ran to the top of the bank and looked 
eagerly across, — a great crowd following him. Only 


182 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


the level tow-path met his eye, and a horizon of far- 
off forest-tops beyond : not even the saw-mill was vis- 
ible, to say nothing of the race into which the culvert 
conducted the pond water. The whole country fell 
away in that direction towards Lake Ontario, which 
lay behind the billowy line of forest-tops. 

To make any discoveries on the other side of the 
high embankments, which carried the canal over 
what had once been a narrow valley opening out into 
the broad, low country, it would of course be neces- 
sary to cross to the tow-path. But there was no 
bridge nearer than the village, and Sellick did not 
like to get wet. So he called out to the two swim- 
mers, now diligently looking for Jack in the pond 
after it had been shown that he was n’t there, “ Hel- 
lo ! Len and Harry ! go through the culvert and see 
what you can see ! ” 

“ Will you, Harry ? ” said Len. 

" No, I won’t go through the culvert, for any con- 
stable ! ” replied Harry. 

“ Nor I neither, if you won’t,” said Len ; the cul- 
vert being generally regarded with superstition by 
village bathers. “ There ’s water-snakes in it ! ” 

“ If the mill should start, we could n’t swim back 
against the current,” Harry answered Sellick. 

“ Then hurry up here, and cross the canal ; come, 
you’ve got your clothes off!” cried Sellick. 

“ What do you say, Harry ? ” asked Len. 

“ I d’n’ know, I do’ wanter ! ” replied Harry. 

“ Nor I neither ! ” said Len. 


THE SEARCH, AND HOW IT ENDED. 183 

“ Come, Sellick ! don’t be l’iterin’ here ! ” exclaimed 
the impatient Peternot. “ Either cross over, or go 
round by the bridge.” 

“ Here comes an old wheat-boat ; maybe the steers- 
man ’ll put us across,” said Sellick. “ Hello ! ” he 
shouted, “lay over here!” And he called to the 
driver : “ Do you see any boy about the race-way, 

or running off anywhere, down on that side of the 
canal ? ” 

“I see a man going into the saw-mill, — nobody 
else,” answered the driver. 

“ Call him ! tell him to come up to the tow-path.” 

“ Call him yourself ! ” And the driver cracked his 
whip at the towing horses. 

“ I shall git aground, if I go over there,” said the 
steersman. 

“ Ho, you won’t ! Good shore ! plenty of water ! 
you ’re light ! ” 

“ What ’s the row, anyhow ? ” 

Before Sellick could answer, somebody in the crowd 
cried, “ Prisoner got away — boy — went through the 
culvert under the canal — constable wants to go over 
and git him.” 

“ Give ye a quarter,” added Sellick. 

Slowly the bow swung over towards the “heel- 
path ” ; then the steersman, bracing himself against 
the tiller, carried over the stern. The boat grated 
hard against the shore, and immediately, not only 
Sellick, but at least a dozen men and boys with him, 
jumped and scrambled aboard. 


184 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ Ruther more passengers ’n I bargained fer,” re- 
marked the steersman, as the boat floated off again. 
“ Guess I shall haf to charge ye all about ten cents 
apiece.” 

“ Charge ’em what you ’re a mind to, and set me 
across in a hurry,” replied Sellick. 

“What boy is it,” asked the steersman, “and 
what mischief has he been up to ? ” 

“His name is Hazard, — Jack Hazard.” 

“ You don’t say ! I know Jack ! I used to go 
with a scow his step-father was captain of when he 
was a driver ; Cap’n Berrick’s scow. But I thought 
Jack was doin’ well, back in the country here some- 
where.” 

“ He was, till he got into another man’s house by 
mistake,” said Sellick. “ He ain’t a bad boy, Jack 
ain’t ; a good feller ; smart too, — smartest boy I 
ever see ! But slippery as an eel ! He ’s slipped 
through my fingers twice to-day. But you ain’t put- 
ting us ashore ! ” 

“ Passengers hain’t paid their fare yet,” replied the 
steersman, coolly keeping the boat in the middle of 
the canal. “ Tell me about Jack.” 

“ Lay up and I will ! Here ’s my quarter.” 

“ Ten cents, — ten cents all round ; no partiality,” 
said the steersman, declining the proffered coin. 
“About Jack — I’ve knowed him off and on for a 
couple o’ year an’ more, and I never believed he would 
steal.” 

“ It was n’t exactly stealing. — Hurry up with your 


THE SEARCH, AND HOW IT ENDED. 


185 


money! — Some disputed property. — Ten cents, boys ! 
— He believed it was his, and took it. — Why don’t 
you pay up, you fellows ? ” 

Nobody but Sellick, however, seemed to think it 
desirable to pay money for being landed on the tow- 
path ; and Sellick was unwilling to pay for the crowd. 

“ On the whole,” remarked the steersman, “ I guess 
I won’t take your money. You may all ride up to 
the Basin for nothing. But you ’ll have to git off on 
the bridge, for we don’t stop. — No, sir!” as Sellick 
offered to lay his hand on the tiller. “ You ’re a 
perty good-lookin’ chap, but ye can’t come that non- 
sense here. I ’m steersman of this craft, jest about 
now. You ’re welcome to yer ride, gentlemen, bein’ 
friends of Jack’s. Remember me to him, will ye, 
when ye fall in with him ? — which I hope you won’t 
in a hurry. J est give him a hand-shake and a good 
word from his old chum Pete. Lay down that pike- 
pole, mister, or I ’ll lay you down ! ” 

“ I ’m going ashore ! ” cried Sellick. 

“ You ’ll go ashore in a way you won’t like ! ” said 
Pete ; and there stood two rough, reckless-looking 
deck hands ready to back him. 

Sellick dropped the pole with a laugh, which did 
not seem so spontaneous and hearty as some of the 
outbursts of merriment in which that mirthful gentle- 
man had been known to indulge. 

The spectators on the shore understood the move- 
ment, and, at sight of the jolly constable and his 
companions carried off against their will by the slow- 


186 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


moving wheat-boat, sent after them a chorus of jeers 
and laughter, in which mingled the tone of one stem 
and angry voice, that of Squire Peternot, who struck 
the “ heel-path ” with his heavy horn-headed cane, 
exclaiming, “ Hang the wretches ! hang the miserable 
villains ! ” 


THE CULVERT AND THE CORNFIELD. 


187 


CHAPTEK XXIX. 

THE CULVERT AND THE CORNFIELD. 

All these delays gave Jack time, and time was 
what he needed just now. 

It was not until the moment when, pretending to 
fall, he threw himself from the masonry of the cul- 
vert, that the idea occurred to him of resorting to a 
little trick which he had often practised in the water 
with Lion, for the amusement of his companions, and 
of playing the part of a drowning boy. The dog that 
usually rescued him could be dispensed with on this 
occasion ; but the skill of the experienced swimmer 
might serve him. 

He had seen the culvert whilst running towards 
the canal ; and even then the thought had flashed 
through his mind that, if he could once get into it, 
pursuit might be baffled, and his capture delayed, for 
at least a little while. He did not, however, suppose 
that it would be possible to pass through and escape, 
against the chances of being met and taken on the 
other side. 

But now he thought if he could make it appear 
that he was drowned in the pond, then time might 
be gained. So, after his first plunge, he came up 
once, in order to catch breath and give one glance at 
the situation, then turned in the water and sank. 


188 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


Fortunately the sun on the surface dazzled Sellick’s 
eyes, or he might have seen a suspicious movement 
of the boy’s hands, and the quiet gliding away of the 
boy’s body through the clear depths, towards the 
arched opening in the masonry. 

When next Jack came to the surface, he found 
himself in what seemed a long, narrow gallery, nearly 
filled with water ; a low, vaulted roof just above him, 
and an opening at each end through which shone the 
light of the sky. Drops from the clammy and drip- 
ping stones fell with slow, echoing plashes in the 
cavernous gloom, reminding him that he was under 
the canal ; that the great, winding, watery thorough- 
fare, which he had travelled many a summer, and 
through which the lazy boats moved, was now over 
his head. 

Accustomed to diving as he was, a plunge at the 
end of an exhausting race was not a good thing for 
the lungs ; and Jack declares that he was never so 
nearly dead for want of breath, as when he rose to 
the surface in the culvert. For a minute or more it 
seemed quite impossible for him to make any exer- 
tion, beyond what was necessary to keep his nose 
above water. But there he stayed, just moving his 
feet and hands, while he filled his aching lungs with 
drafts of air, which made him rise and sink, and sent 
gentle undulations and ripples along the dark culvert 
walls. 

The cries for help came to his ears, and inspired 
him with fresh courage : he knew that his stratagem 


THE CULVERT AND THE CORNFIELD. 


189 


had succeeded. He knew, too, that it would not be 
long before search would be made for him in the cul- 
vert, or at the other opening. “ I must be moving ! ” 
he thought. 

Swimming swiftly and silently under the low 
vault, he passed completely beneath the canal, and 
cautiously put his head out on the other side. Be- 
fore him was the tranquil mill-race half filled with 
floating saw-logs, the saw-mill at the end of it, and a 
low, wild country of stumpy farms and wooded 
swamps beyond. Nobody in sight; but he could 
still hear excited voices on the other side of the canal 
embankments. 

Gliding out of the culvert, he swam to the right 
bank of the race, which was there built up five or six 
feet from the ground, crawled over it, dropped down 
under it, and ran along beside it till he reached the 
mill. He heard the shrill shriek of filing saws as he 
passed, and knew that the sawyer was busy. Dodg- 
ing between great piles of slabs and lumber, he kept 
on, and soon gained the shelter of a fringe of alders 
that bordered the onward-flowing mill-stream. That 
led him into a swampy piece of woods. And so it 
happened that, by the time Sellick and his compan- 
ions scrambled from the deck of the wheat-boat upon 
the bridge at the Basin, and turned back to the cul- 
vert, the fugitive was nearly a mile away. 

Traversing the swamp, Jack crossed several fields 
and a wood-lot, and at length came out upon a re- 
cent clearing, in which a number of half-burnt stumps 


190 


A CHANCE FOB HIMSELF. 


and log-heaps were smoking. Beyond that was a 
road ; and on the farther side of the road was a corn- 
field. 

“That’s the place to hide!” thought Jack; and 
having stopped to drink at a little spring, he crossed 
the road, and was soon gliding between rows of tas- 
selled stalks and long green rustling leaves. 

The piece was wet, and a part of the crop was late, 
and Jack observed with interest a number of good 
roasting ears. Being a prudent youth, he had already 
begun to question where his next meal was to be 
obtained ; for although he had a little money, he had 
no hat, and feared to present himself anywhere bare- 
headed. 

“ I ’ll help myself, as the coons and squirrels do,” 
said he, as he noticed the ravages of those destructive 
little beasts all about the field. “ Hello ! here ’s some- 
thing interesting ! ” 

It was a scarecrow of stuffed clothes, from which a 
flock of noisy blackbirds flew up at his approach. 

“ That ’s a pretty good felt hat,” said he ; “ wonder 
how it would fit me. Excuse me, old fellow ; I need 
it more than you do ; I ’ll bring it back when I get 
through with it. In the mean while the blackbirds 
can’t respect you any less than they do now, I 
know ! ” 

He pulled off the hat, gave it a good beating on 
the scarecrow’s outstretched wooden hand, and found 
that, by stuffing a few corn-husks under the lining, 
he could make it do very well. 


THE CULVERT AND THE CORNFIELD. 191 

“ Thank you,” said he. “ Now I feel as if I had 
traded myself off for another boy. If you ’ve no ob- 
jections, I think I ’ll keep you company a little while. 
Poor company’s better than none, as they say. 
Oblige me by holding my coat till it dries a little.” 

He hung his wet garment on the scarecrow, and 
walked leisurely about, selecting a few of the best 
roasting ears he could find. His breakfast had really 
amounted to nothing, — good Mrs. Pipkin’s biscuit 
and butter having been sacrificed with the milk he 
bought of the grocer, — and he was growing faint. 

The excitement of his escape had left him in good 
spirits. For a while he was buoyed up by a wild 
feeling of freedom ; and his old love of adventure 
came back upon him. The wrongs he had suffered 
made him reckless and defiant of the whole world. 

“ I ’ve tried to be honest ; but what ’s the use ? ” 
said he. “ I thought I ’d got a chance for myself, 
and this is what it comes to ! Even the deacon has 
turned against me ! How let ’em look out ! I ’ll have 
my pay, somehow ! ” 

If Jack had kept near the canal, and in this mood 
had seen his old friend Pete comfortably riding the 
tiller of the wheat-boat, his whole future might have 
been changed by so slight a circumstance. But his 
good genius had not yet given him over to his own 
vindictive thoughts and rash resolves. 

With weariness and hunger came memory and re- 
flection. The burning sense of injury with which he 
thought of Peternot and Phineas Chatford, and all 


192 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


who had been instrumental in his disgrace, gave way 
to different emotions as he remembered good Mrs. 
Chatford, and lovely Annie Felton, and affectionate 
little Kate. 

“ 0, shall I never see them again ? ” he murmured ; 
and a big sob rose in his throat. And the home 
where he had been so happy for a few short months ! 
And Lion ! “ I won’t go without Lion, anyway ! ” 

he exclaimed. “ I ’ll see the Huswick boys about the 
money, and get that if I can, and Lion anyhow ! ” 

It was a beautiful day, mild and tranquil and 
hazy, with just that tinge of melancholy in it which 
marks the gradual change of summer into autumn. 
To Jack, lurking there in the silent cornfield, it 
seemed like Sunday. He sat down in the warm sun- 
light by the scarecrow, and waited for his clothes to 
dry. 

The shrill song of the locust rose now and then on 
the still air, increasing for a few seconds in vehe- 
mence, then sank and ceased ; and occasionally the 
gossip of the multitudinous blackbirds came quite 
near to him, as the chattering flocks settled on the 
corn ; but he heard scarcely any other sound, until 
suddenly he became aware of footsteps and a rustling 
of leaves not far off. He sat still, and listened. Then 
all was quiet again for a minute or two. Then came 
the loud report of a fowling-piece, accompanied by a 
curious rattling sound close above his head. A scat- 
tering volley of small shot had cut the corn-tops all 
about the spot where he sat. 


THE CULVERT AND THE CORNFIELD. 


193 


His first thought was that he had been shot at. 
But just then a cloud of blackbirds rose from the 
corn, and the feet he had heard approaching rushed 
towards them. He kept perfectly still, and saw a 
hoy about his own size run past him, between two 
rows of corn, not a rod off. The young hunter might 
easily have discovered Jack sitting there beside the 
scarecrow, if he had not been so intent on picking up 
his blackbirds. 


194 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

JACK BREAKFASTS AND RECEIVES A VISITOR. 

Soon Jack heard the gun in another part of the 
field ; then a quarter of a mile off ; then faintly in 
the far distance. Then the blackbirds came back 
again. 

“Now,” said Jack, “I’ll see what I can do for 
breakfast.” 

He put on his coat, filled his pockets with roasting 
ears, and returned towards the stump-lot where he 
had seen the smoking log-heaps. He had not gone 
far when he saw something black hop along the 
ground before him. It was a wounded blackbird. 
He gave chase, picked up a dead bird by the way, 
caught and killed the first, and dressed both with his 
jack-knife. They were plump and fat. 

“Some folks think blackbirds ain’t good to eat,” 
said he, “ but I am going to try ’em.” 

Cautiously emerging from the cornfield, he crossed 
the road, and got over into the clearing. There he 
found the spring at which he had drank before, and, 
having drank again, he washed his hands and face 
and prepared his birds for roasting. He now sought 
out one of the half-burnt log-heaps, and, crouching 
beside it, opened a bed of glowing coals with a green 
branch which he used as a poker. A part of the 


JACK BREAKFASTS AND RECEIVES A VISITOR. 195 

branch he whittled into a spit for his birds, and then 
proceeded to cook his breakfast. 

He burnt the corn, and likewise his fingers a little, 
and more than once a bird dropped from the spit into 
the fire; but he didn’t mind these slight mishaps. 
His appetite was good, and, everything being ready 
at last, he made a delicious meal without salt. How 
sweet the roasted corn was ! And he laughed at the 
foolish prejudice of some ignorant people against the 
flesh of blackbirds, as he sucked the tender bones and 
tossed them into the fire. 

All this time he kept a waiy watch for intruders ; 
and now he was not pleased to see over his shoulder 
a man crossing the stump-lot. He moved at a saun- 
tering pace, and stooped now and then to examine 
objects on the ground ; and Jack noticed that once 
or twice he appeared to put something into a little 
bag he carried in his hand. 

“ Maybe he won’t see me,” thought Jack. "Yes, 
he will, though ! He ’s coming straight towards me ! ” 

He thought it best, however, to keep quiet and go 
on with his breakfast. He had already thrown the 
well-gnawed corn-cobs into the fire, and was picking 
the last ribs of his second blackbird, when the stran- 
ger drew near. 

“ You seem to be having a jolly time here, all by 
yourself.” 

Jack looked up, and saw beside him a rather short, 
square-built young man, with a face strongly marked 
by the small-pox, — a face which, however,, in spite 


196 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 



A NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 


of its blemislies, was rendered interesting and attrac- 
tive by a certain lively and good-humored expression. 
The little bag in his hand turned out to be a hand- 
kerchief tied up by the corners, from between which 
peeped the green tufts and delicate plumes of some 
fresh mosses and ferns. 

“Not so very jolly,” replied Jack, perceiving at 
once that he had nothing to fear from a person who 


-JACK BREAKFASTS AND RECEIVES A VISITOR. 197 

looked down upon him out of such pleasant and 
kindly eyes. 

“ You ’d better stir your fire and burn up those 
cobs before old Mr. Canning comes this way,” said the 
stranger. “ He ’s a man who would have prosecuted 
the Master and his disciples for plucking corn in his 
field on the Sabbath day.” 

“ He can prosecute me, if he likes,” replied Jack, 
with a reckless laugh. “ I ’ve one crabbed old man 
after me already.” 

“ I thought so. Your clothes have n’t got quite dry 
yet, I see. Do you know, I have you to thank for a 
fine bath this morning ? ” 

Jack stared. “ How so ? ” 

“I went into the pond after you.” And Percy 
Lanman — for it was he — proceeded to relate what 
had occurred at the culvert after Jack’s escape. 

Jack was greatly entertained, especially by the 
story of Sellick and his companions carried up to the 
Basin by his old friend Pete, on the wheat-boat. 
Percy’s good-humor and sympathy had by this time 
quite won his confidence, and the fugitive told him 
in return the whole story of his misfortunes. 

“ I think you have been treated outrageously ! ” 
said the young man. “ But yours is not so extraor- 
dinary a case of injustice as you suppose. I advise 
you to read history a little : you will find it for the 
most part only a record of wrong and oppression. 
Human nature is about the same to-day it always has 
been. Most people — I am sorry to say it — are 


198 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


capable of seeing only their own selfish interest in 
anything that concerns them. As you go through 
life you must expect to see friends and neighbors 
start out into enemies and oppressors, when their 
personal interest is touched. The worst of it will be, 
that people- of whom you expect better things — who 
are supposed to know something of the Golden Rule, 
and to be actuated by feelings of justice and benevo- 
lence — will for the sake of a few dollars grasp and 
scramble, and show no more regard for reason and 
right than so many hungry wolves.” 

This picture of the worst side of human society 
was well calculated to show Jack that his was not 
the only or the worst case of wrong in the world. 
“ But what is a fellow to do ? ” he asked. 

Percy sat down on the ground, and, opening his 
handkerchief, talked on, while he assorted his mosses 
and ferns. 

" You must make up your mind, in the first place, 
that you have got to bear a good deal of this sort of 
thing in going through life. Beware of briers and 
thistles, but remember that they exist, and be patient 
when you get pricked. In reading stories of perse- 
cation and martyrdom, I always feel that I had rather 
be the just man who suffered for the right, than the 
tyrants and bigots who tried to destroy him. Be true 
to yourself, and nobody can do you any real, perma- 
nent harm. Let ’em rage ! what do you and I care ? 
There is something in our minds superior to all their 
spites. You have done what almost any boy would 


JACK BREAKFASTS AND RECEIVES A VISITOR. 199 

do, that was smart enough ; and I can’t help laugh- 
ing to think how you locked up the court, and after- 
wards went through the culvert whilst we were trying 
to fish you out of the pond.” 

J ack laughed too, as he mechanically looked over 
Percy’s plants. 

“ But you might have done better, — you might do 
better now,” said the young man. And his scarred 
and pitted features looked somehow radiant and beau- 
tiful to Jack. 

“ What could I do ? ” 

“ Why, let ’em take you to jail, if they want to. 
What hurt will it do you ? Stand up and say, f I 
thought I was right ; I meant to do right ; and 
now if you want to send me to jail, go ahead ! I can 
stand it ! I ’m willing ! ’ Throw yourself boldly on 
your honesty, rest on that rock, and let ’em do their 
worst ! ” 

Jack, feeling how little honesty there had been in 
his heart a little while before, hung his head over a 
sprig of fern he was twirling between thumb and 
finger. 

“ Mind, I don’t advise you to do just that, for I ’m 
not sure you ’re up to it. But if you could do it, 
’t would be grand in you ! People talk of good and 
bad fortunes ; but fortunes are good or bad according 
to the use we make of ’em. This disgrace you are 
suffering now you may turn into one of the bless- 
ings of your life ; or it may make a thief or a vaga- 
bond of you. Understand ? ” 


200 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


Percy’s eyes twinkled like a clear, running brook } 
as they looked into Jack’s, which fell before them, — ' 
the lad remembering how really he had been a thief 
and vagabond in his heart, an hour ago. Yes, he urn 
derstood. 

“ Think it over,” said Percy. “ Meanwhile you will 
want a little money.” 

“ No, I sha’ n’t !” cried Jack. 

“ But you will, though. Here’s a trifle, which 
you can repay when it is perfectly convenient,” added 
Percy, seeing that the proud boy would not accept a 
gift. 

“Well, if you lend it to me,” said Jack, receiving 
the jingling coin in his palm. “ I ’ll pay you some 
time. If I can only get that money of Hank Hus- 
wick ! I ’ll go for it this very afternoon ! ” 

“ Well, good by,” said Percy, tying up his plants. 
“ Keep your head and heart right, and you ’ll do well, 
whatever happens. Come to me if you want help. 
You know where I live.” 

And he sauntered off across the field, looking curi- 
ously at every bird and plant and stone. 

“ How happy he is ! ” thought Jack, following him 
with yearning eyes. “ And I was just so happy once ! 
Shall I ever, shall I ever be again ? ” 

He revisited the spring, and afterwards made a 
dessert of berries in a wild field hedged by raspberry 
and blackberry bushes ; then set out to find the Hus- 
wick boys. 


TEA WITH AUNT PATSY. 


201 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

TEA WITH AUNT PATSY. 

Alone in her lonely little house, in the closing 
twilight. Aunt Patsy had put up the leaf of her rickety 
pine table, and, having placed upon it a pewter plate 
and a cracked teacup, was busy preparing her humble 
supper, — bending over the hearth, toasting a crust 
of bread on a fork, beside a simmering teapot, — 
when the door was softly pushed open and somebody 
looked in. 

“ Who ’s there ? ” shrieked the old woman, dropping 
her toast and starting up in affright. 

“Nobody but me; don’t be scared, Aunt Patsy.” 
And the visitor glided into the room and softly 
closed the door again. 

“ You ! Jack Hazard ! ” she exclaimed, recovering 
her self-possession. “ Bless ye, lad, I ’m always glad 
to see ye. But vicious boys have played so many 
mean tricks on me, I ’m awful skittish ! It ’s gittin’ 
so dark I did n’t know ye at fust. Or is it that 
odd-lookin’ hat you ’ve got on ? ” 

Jack laughed, and said he thought it must be the 
hat that disguised him. “ It ’s a borrowed one ; I ’m 
great on borrowing hats ! Did I ever tell you how I 
made free with Syd Chatford’s once ? A very quiet 
and accommodating gentleman was kind enough to let 

9 * 


202 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


me take this right off from his head ; he ’s standing 
out in the open field bareheaded now, waiting for me 
to return it.” 

“ What are ye talkin’ ? Set down, won’t ye, 
and keep a poor body company for a little while ? 
You ’re jest in time to take a cup o’ tea with me, 
and eat a piece of Mis’ Chatford’s pie ye brought 
me. I wish I had a candle ; but I ’m too poor to 
indulge in luxuries. I can start up a flash of fire, 
though.” 

“ Don’t start it up for me,” replied Jack. “ I pre- 
fer to sit in the dark.” 

“ But we must have a trifle of a blaze, to see to eat 
by ; besides, I want a glimpse o’ your face. Friends’ 
faces ain’t so common a sight with me that I can 
afford to mis.; seein’ ’em when they do look in. 
How ’s Mis’ Chatford, and dear Miss Felton ? ” 

“ They seemed to be in their usual state of health 
when I last saw them. I have left Mr. Chatford’s ; 
did you know it ? ” 

“ Left — Deacon Chatford’s ! Why, lad, you 
astonish me ! ” And Aunt Patsy, who was putting 
some chips on the fire, turned and stared at her 
guest. “ I thought you was kind of adopted by 
them.” 

At this the cheery tone of voice in which Jack 
had spoken began to fail him. “I — I thought — I 
hoped so — too,” he murmured, standing beside the 
mantel-piece. “ But I have left. I can never go 
back there again. I’m in a bad scrape, and even if 


TEA WITH AUNT PATSY. 


203 


I get out of it I can’t go back ; for there ’s a lie 
between Phin and me, and of course they believe 
Phin and blame me,” he went on with swelling pas- 
sion in his tones. “ I ’ve just come in to say good by 
to you.” 

“ Good by, Jack ? You can’t mean it ! Where 
ye goin’ ? ” And the amazed old woman and the 
agitated boy stood facing each other in the flickering 
firelight. 

“ I don’t know ! I just want to see her first, — I 
mean Miss Felton, — and get my dog ; then I ’m off ; 
no matter where. I must n’t be seen here. You 
could n’t hide me, could you, if anybody should 
come in ? There ’s a constable after me.” 

“ A constable ! Why, what is the trouble ? I ’ll 
bar the door, the fust thing ! ” The door was barred, 
and then Aunt Patsy carefully arranged her dingy 
window-curtains so that no spying eye could look in. 
“ Now, here is the wood-shed ; you know that well 
enough, often as you have been in it to split my 
wood for me. The door is hooked on the inside. 
You might slip in here, if anybody comes; and 
then, if I give ye a signal, spring out of that door 
or out of the back winder, either. But I don’t see 
why anybody should be s’archin’ for ye in my 
house ! ” 

“ Peternot knows I come here sometimes,” said 
Jack. “ But never mind. I ’ve slipped through the 
officer’s hands twice to-day. I ’ll risk him ! ” 

“ Is it Peternot ! ” exclaimed the old woman, 


204 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


angrily. “ Tell me about it ! Meanwhile ye must 
drink a cup o’ tea with me.” 

In vain Jack protested that he did not drink tea, 
that he was n’t hungry, and begged her not to 
trouble herself for him. She removed the pewter 
plate and cracked cup, and, reaching the top shelf 
of her closet, brought down the last remnants of 
an old-fashioned china tea-set, a couple of plates 
and cups and saucers, once fair and delicate but now 
much defaced by wear, the edges being nicked and 
the original colored figures and gilding mostly gone. 

While more bread was toasting, Jack began his 
story. 

“ A trunk of money ! ” exclaimed Aunt Patsy, 
interrupting him. “ In Peternot’s woods ! I wonder ! 
But go on, then I ’ll tell you something ! ” 

When he came to his adventure with the squire, 
she broke forth again, “ Jest like the mean old 
miserly curmudgeon ! He ’s tried for fifteen year 
to git my little morsel of a place away from me ; but 
he hain’t done it yit, and he never will, long as I ’m 
above the sod. But go on, go on, Jack ; then I ’ll 
tell you a story ! ” 

So Jack related all that had happened, down to 
his encounter with Percy Lanman ; by which time 
the toast and tea were on the table, and the old lady, 
though excited by the narrative, bade him sit up and 
share her supper. “ It ’s a poor show, I know,” said 
she, “ but it ’s the best I have ; and I should n’t have 
all this if ’t wa’ n’t for you and Mis’ Chatford.” 


TEA WITH AUNT PATSY. 


205 


“ This toast is all I want,” said Jack. “ I went to a 
house about two hours ago and got a bowl of bread 
and milk for ten cents. The woman did n’t want to 
take anything, but I thought I ’d let her know I 
was n’t a beggar, though I felt like one ; for I ’d 
just had a wild-goose-chase after the Huswick boys 
and my bag of money.” 

“ The Huswick boys ! they ’re as bad as Peternot 
himself, though in a different way,” said Aunt Patsy, 
sipping her tea in the dancing light of the fire, while 
Jack, sitting at the table to please her, nibbled his 
toast. 

“ I ’ve done three silly things, one every time I put 
any trust in those rascals ! ” said Jack. “ First, when 
I left ’em to guard the money while I ran for Mr. 
Chatford ; next, when I went with ’em to get it back 
from the old squire ; and again, when I went home 
last night, instead of sticking tight to Hank and Tug 
till we found Cub and the money.” 

“ That seems the weakest thing you have done,” 
said the old woman. “ Though if they meant to rob 
you, your follerin’ on ’em up would have done no 
good.” 

“ I thought of that ; and I imagined it would have 
a good effect if I took Hank’s word, and made him 
believe I thought there was a little honor in him. 
He may mean well by me still ; but I ’m pretty sure 
he is dodging me on purpose. I found Dock and 
Hod and Tug this afternoon ; and they said Hank 
and Cub had cleared out for a day or two for fear 


206 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


they would be arrested for helping me break into 
Peternot’s house. Tug vowed he did n’t know where 
they were or what they had done with the money.” 

“They ’re playin’ you false,” said Aunt Patsy. 
“ But don’t mind. Now I ’ll- tell you my story, and 
you ’ll see you hain’t lost so much, and they hain’t 
gained so much, as you and they think.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” cried Jack. 

The old woman took a sip of tea and went on. “ I 
know about that money; at least, I know some- 
thin’ about it. You ’ve heard complaints agin my 
fust husband, — how bad characters used to come 
to our house, for one thing. I don’t deny but 
what there was somethin’ in that, though he was a 
good man to me ; whatever else he was, he was good 
to me ! ” And the old woman wiped away a tear. 
“ There was one Sam Williams, — I always telled 
my husband he ’d better have nothin’ to do with 
him, for I was sure he ’d come to some bad end ; 
and sure enough he did ; he escaped from a constable 
and was shot ; died of his wound in jail. This was 
a year or two ’fore my fust husband died ; and ’t was 
when the officers was arter him that he come to our 
house one night with a little trunk of money.” 

“ Half-dollars ? ” said Jack, eagerly interrupting 
her. 

“ I believe so, though I don’t remember for sartin 
about that. He wanted my husband to keep it for 
him ; but I said, ‘ Don’t ye have nothin’ to do with 
it, if you want to keep out o’ trouble/ Well, he 


TEA WITH AUNT PATSY. 


207 


stayed with us from jest arter dark one evenin’ till 
jest afore day next mornin’ ; and that was the last 
we ever see of him. That must ’a’ been the trunk, 
and he hid it in the woods. If it was,” added Aunt 
Patsy, looking keenly at Jack across the corner of 
the table, “ then either Mr. Chatford or the goldsmith 
has made a grand mistake.” 

Again Jack anxiously demanded what she meant ; 
but just as she was about to explain herself, there 
came a light rap at the door. He sprang to his feet 
in an instant. 

“ Hish ! ” she whispered, shaking her finger at him. 

She hurriedly replaced the extra plate and cup and 
saucer in the closet, while Jack, stepping on tiptoes, 
took refuge in the wood-shed. The rap was repeated 
just as she reached the door. 


208 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTEK XXXII. 

A STARLIGHT WALK WITH ANNIE FELTON. 

Without removing the bar, Aunt Patsy called out, 
“ Who ’s there ? What do you want ? ” 

“ I want to see you, Aunt Patsy,” answered a sweet 
feminine voice. 

“ Is it you, Miss Felton? Bless me!” And the 
old woman hastily unbarred the door. “ To think of 
my keepin’ you standin’ outside ! Come in, come in, 
you darlin’ ! ” 

In walked Annie, fresh and smiling, but casting 
nevertheless an anxious and wistful glance about the 
room. 

“ I have just run over from my aunt’s,” she said ; 
“ really, I can’t sit down. I thought you might have 
some news of our friend Jack.” 

“ Jack ?” said the old lady, in a voice loud enough 
to be heard in the wood-shed. “ What about Jack ? ” 

“ Has no one told you ? I did n’t know but he him- 
self — 0 Jack ! ” exclaimed Annie, joyfully, taking a 
quick step towards the door through which the young- 
ster at that moment advanced into the room, “ I am 
so glad to see you ! I heard how you had got away, 
and I was afraid we might never see you again ! ” 

“ I could n’t go without seeing you once more ! ” 
said Jack, trembling with emotion at this unexpected 


A STARLIGHT WALK WITH ANNIE FELTON. 209 


meeting. " Though I was n’t sure you would care to 
see me.” 

“ O J ack ! why not ? Whatever you may have 
done, I shall always feel an interest in you.” 

“ An interest in me ! ” said Jack, chokingly. * Bad 
as I am, that ’s kind ! ” He spoke bitterly, and drew 
back from her with a look of disappointment. 

“ My dear Jack ! you are not angry with me ? ” 

“No! you might say what you like, I could never 
be angry with you. But I did n’t think you would 
believe anything so very bad of me, just from what 
other people say. I hoped at least you would wait 
and hear my story first.” And Jack, still turning 
from her, wiped his quivering eyes with his sleeve. 

"Have I said I believed anything very bad of 
you ? ” asked Annie, softly. 

"Ho, but whatever I might have done , you said. 
That is, you don’t quite give me up, in spite of my 
awful conduct ! ” 

"Don’t you see, Miss Felton,” cried Aunt Patsy, 
" he ’s been so put upon and misused, he can’t be 
satisfied without his friends take his part in down- 
right ’arnest ? That ’s nat’ral. Half-way words won’t 
suit him.” 

"I know!” added Jack, with a passionate out- 
burst ; " Phin ’s her cousin ; he’s a saint, and I am a 
liar and a villain, of course, if he says so ! ” 

" You know very well I don’t think Phin a saint,” 
replied Annie, with gentle dignity, " any more than I 
think you a villain. You .are both boys, with the 


210 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


faults of boys. From all I hear, you have ne t done 
perfectly right in every respect ; and I don’t think 
you will claim that you have. If you expected me 
just to pat you on the back, and say, ‘Poor Jack! 
good Jack ! how they have abused you ! ’ why, then, 
you have n’t known what a real friend I am to you. 
I came here this evening, hoping to find you, and to 
do something for you. But if this is the way you 
meet me, I suppose I might as well have stayed at 
home.” And now she turned away. 

“Don’t go!” Jack entreated. “0 Miss Felton! 
forgive me if I am unreasonable ! But it seems so 
hard to know that you think my enemies are in the 
right ! Do you believe I would break into a house 
and steal ; that I would make up a lie, to shift the 
blame to Phin or his father or any one else ? I can 
bear to have others think so meanly of me, but not 
you ! ” And the boy’s passion broke forth in uncon- 
trollable sobs. 

She took his hand with one of hers, and laid the 
other kindly and soothingly upon his shoulder. 

“There, there, Jack ! ” she said, her own voice full 
of emotion ; “ I don’t believe you would deliberately 
steal or make up such a lie. I know you would n’t ! ” 

“ And as for the money,” sobbed Jack, “I did just 
what Peternot’s own nephew, who is studying law, 
said he should advise any one to do who found treas- 
ure on another man’s land ; he said, ‘ Pocket it and 
say nothing about it ; keep possession, any way ; 
fight for it.’ That ’s what I tried to do. Then after 


A STARLIGHT WALK WITH ANNIE FELTON. 211 



A TRUE FRIEND. 


I had been robbed of it, I went to take it again, and 
that ’s the cause of all my trouble” 

“ I regard Squire Peternot’s course very much as 
you do,” said Annie, still soothing the lad, with one 
hand pressing his own and the other on his shoulder, 
“ though I ’m not so angry at him. He has acted ac- 
cording to his nature ; not according to the Golden 
Eule, very sure. But how few people act according 


212 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


to the Golden Buie, Jack ! If we were to quarrel 
with all who fail in that respect, I am afraid we 
should find ourselves in difficulty with nearly the 
whole world. No, Jack; it’s useless to fly into a 
passion with everybody we see acting selfishly and 
meanly. It is much better to look carefully after our 
own conduct, and see what we may be doing that is 
wrong. Now I want you to walk home with me, and 
tell me your story by the way ; then we will see what 
had better be done. Aunt Patsy will leave her door 
unbarred, so that you can come back and see her 
again.” 

They went out together, and talked long in low 
tones as they walked under the starlit sky across 
the fields. 

“ Now, Jack,” said Annie, when they had reached 
Mr. Chatford’s orchard, and stopped beside the little 
brook that kept up its low liquid babble in the dark 
shadows that half concealed it, “ I have heard your 
own story, and I can’t say that I blame yon very 
much for anything you have done. You have acted 
naturally, but not always wisely. No doubt so much 
money appeared a great fortune to you, and of course 
something very desirable. But I am by no means 
sure it would have been a good thing for you to have. 
I ’m afraid your head would have been turned by it. 
You were doing well enough before. You were sure 
of a good living, a good home, and a chance for your- 
self, as I have heard you say with honest pride so 
many times.” 


A STARLIGHT WALK WITH ANNIE FELTON. 213 


“ This is what my chance has finally come to ! ” 
said Jack, — “ no home, no future, hut a constable at 
my heels ! ” 

“ I can think of something that might be worse for 
you than all that , — getting rich too fast. That ’s what 
ruins many. You were happy in slowly working 
your way up the ladder, happier than you could ever 
be again if you should suddenly find yourself at the 
top. The money might not have harmed you, but I 
am sure you could have done very well without it. 
Don’t regret it if it is lost. And, of all things, don’t 
associate yourself with bad companions or adopt un- 
justifiable means to gain even justifiable ends. Bet- 
ter submit to a little wrong. If your enemies succeed 
in overreaching you, so much the worse for them. 
Would n’t you rather be robbed than feel that you 
have robbed another ? I know you would, J ack ! ” 

“You talk just like Percy Lanman !” said the boy, 
his heart beginning to feel warmed and comforted. 

“ The young man who dove for you in the pond ? 
I heard Mr. Chatford tell about him.” 

“ I saw him in the fields afterwards, and he lent 
me some money. He talked just as you do !” Jack 
declared. 

“Now, Jack,” said Annie, leaning tenderly on his 
shoulder and looking into his face by the pale star- 
light, while her touch and the tones of her voice set 
a little stream of joy dancing and singing in his heart, 
like the shadowy brook at their feet, “ I ’m going to 
be frank with you ; hear what I say. Don’t run 


214 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


away. Don’t hide. Don’t try to shirk the conse- 
quences of what you have done, but go home with 
me now.” 

“ To Mr. Chatford’s ? ” said Jack with a start. 

“Yes, just as if nothing had happened. Aunt’s 
folks will receive you kindly, I know, from what they 
have said.” 

“Never!” said Jack. “I never can enter that 
house again as long as there ’s a lie between me and 
Phin. It may be natural for his father to believe 
him instead of me ; hut it ’s something I never can 
get over. No!” he added, as she would have urged 
him ; “ I can go anywhere else, and suffer anything, 
before I can go back there. Besides, how long before 
Sellick would be after me again, and carry me off to 
jail?” 

“Worse things than that might happen to you,” 
Annie replied. 

“ What ? ” said Jack. 

“ To go back to your former life and associates, to 
fall again under bad influences, and lose all the good 
you have gained since you have been with Uncle 
Chatford’s folks ; that would be worse. I don’t want 
you to go to jail, but I ’d rather see you go there in- 
nocent, than run away as if you were guilty. How 
proud I should be of you, if you could stand up and 
say, ‘ I may have done wrong, but I did n’t mean to ; 
now here I am, put me in jail if you want to ! ’ You 
would be proud of yourself too ! Your face would 
shine as it never did before.” 


A STARLIGHT WALK WITH ANNIE FELTON. 215 

“ 0 Miss Felton ! ” said Jack, “ that ’s just the way 
Percy Lanman talked ! ” 

“ Get rid of all rash thoughts of revenge and wild 
living, and put your trust in Providence, and in your 
own integrity,” she went on. “ Be yourself, your 
better self, always, and you ’ll come off victorious 
over everything. That’s my advice, dear Jack ; and 
if Percy Lanman gave you the same, I honor him for 
it. Now will you come in with me ? ” 

“ I ’ll go as far as the door with you,” said Jack, 
“ but I can’t go in ; I can’t ! ” 

As they emerged from the orchard and approached 
the house, they could see through a lighted window 
the family sitting round the evening lamp; Mrs. 
Chatford sewing, the deacon reading, Mr. Pipkin 
holding a skein of thread for Mrs. Pipkin to wind, 
and Phin and Moses playing “ fox-and-geese,” while 
little Kate stood by looking over the board, — a pic- 
ture of quiet domestic enjoyment that reminded poor 
Jack of what he had lost, and wrung his heart with 
grief. 

“ Everything is just as it was before ; nobody thinks 
of me, nobody cares for me ! ” he exclaimed. “ Good 
night ! ” And, moved by a wild and passionate sor- 
row, he broke from her gentle, restraining touch, and 
disappeared in the orchard. 


216 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A STRANGE CALL AT A STRANGE HOUR OF THE NIGHT. 

Wandering to and fro among the dark and silent 
trees, Jack mastered his grief at length ; then, remem- 
bering that he had still one faithful friend, he went 
to find Lion. 

No affectionate whine welcomed his approach. He 
spoke ; he stooped and looked into the gloomy and 
deserted kennel : no dog was there. Phin, foreseeing 
the possibility of Jack’s return on some such errand, 
had that night chained Lion in the barn, and the 
door was locked. 

Passing again near the house, Jack cast a vindictive 
look through the window at Phin, — a look full of 
wrath and misery, which was, however, softened a 
little when he saw Annie, standing, bonnet in hand, 
and 0 how beautiful ! talking to the family. Mr. 
Chatford had put aside his paper, and the women 
their work, and the boys their play, to listen to her. 
Jack knew she was talking of him ; and it seemed 
that he could almost hear the gracious words that 
fell from those sweet, sad lips. 

He watched until he saw all eyes turned upon 
Phineas, and Phineas began to cry. She went on 
into another room, and Mr. Chatford commenced 
talking to Phin. Then Phin looked up through his 


A STRANGE CALL AT A STRANGE HOUR. 217 

tears and made some violent protestation. The dea- 
con turned with a dissatisfied countenance to his 
newspaper, while Phin slunk away and sat moping 
in a corner. 

“ I ’d rather he in my place than in his, anyway ! ” 
murmured Jack. “ I ’d rather have anything done to 
me than be mean and cowardly ! ” 

The memory of all Annie Felton had said to him 
came hack upon his heart, which softened more and 
more under the influence of that pure and gentle 
soul, as he walked hack through the fields to Aunt 
Patsy’s house. 

“ I was dreadful ’fraid you would n’t come hack,” 
said the old woman, welcoming him. “ See ! I ’ve 
made up a sort of bed for you on the floor. You can 
sleep here every night as long as you have to dodge 
the constable.” 

Jack, deeply affected by her kindness, regarded her 
with struggling emotions for some moments before 
he ventured to speak. Here was one of the outcasts 
of society, of whom it was impossible for many peo- 
ple to believe any good thing, who appeared to the 
world a hardened, embittered, hateful old hag, and 
nothing more ; and yet how kind, how motherly even, 
she was to him in his trouble ! Thus there are peo- 
ple all about us whom the world judges from having 
seen only one side of them, and that their worst side, 
while deep springs of human feeling lie hidden in 
their lives. 

Jack murmured his thanks, and said, “ 1 wanted 
10 


218 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


to ask you more about that money. You said eitheT 
Mr. Chatford or the goldsmith had made a mistake 
about it.” 

“ I ’m sure on ’t,” replied Aunt Patsy. “ So don’t 
worry over your loss. There ’s no doubt but what 
that was Sam Williams’s trunk ; and me and my hus- 
band knowed as well as we wanted to that Sam was 
a practised counterfeiter. Of course, the coin was 
bogus.” 

Jack took a quick step across the room, and, return- 
ing, looked steadily at the fire. 

“ If I had only come and told you about it in the 
first place ! ” he said. Then after a moment’s thought, 
“Maybe I’ll come back and sleep on the bed you 
have made for me ; I ’ll be here again in half an 
hour, if I conclude to. Don’t wait for me longer 
than that. Good night, if I don’t come back.” 

“ Any time to-night, I ’ll let you in ! ” were her 
last words as he left her door and disappeared in the 
darkness. 

He walked fast down the road, passed Peternot’s 
house, turned the opposite corner, and kept on until 
he came to a farm-house standing on a gentle rise of 
ground near the street. He walked boldly up to the 
door and knocked. A large-eyed, round-faced, cheer- 
ful-looking woman appeared. 

“ Is the man of the house at home ? ” Jack inquired. 

“ He ’s somewhere about the barn, with a lantern,” 
replied the woman, regarding him with some curi- 
osity. 


A STRANGE CALL AT A STRANGE HOUR. 219 

“ I ’ll find him then,” said Jack. 

As he approached the barn, he saw a man with a 
lantern come out, leading a horse. Near the door, 
which he left open, he set down the lantern in the 
yard, and disappeared with the horse around a corner 
of the barn. 

“ He ’s just going to the pasture bars,” thought 
J ack. “ He ’ll he hack in about two minutes.” His 
resolution began to waver. “ I wish I had waited 
till morning ! Maybe ’t is n’t too late now. I ’ll just 
slip into the barn, anyway.” 

He slipped into the barn accordingly, and seeing, 
by the light of the lantern that shone in, a pile of 
clean straw in one corner, the idea occurred to him 
that it would make a very good bed. He could n’t 
help laughing as he lay down and covered himself 
with it, thinking, “ This is a joke I guess the joker 
himself would relish ! ” 

The man presently returned, took up the lantern, 
looked into the barn as if to see that everything was 
secure, closed a door leading to an adjacent stable, 
and then retired, shutting the barn door after him 
and fastening it with a padlock. 

“ There ’s been a boy here for you ; have you seen 
him ? ” said the cheerful-faced woman when he reached 
the house. 

“ I Ve seen no boy, and I don’t want to see 
another for a fortnight,” replied the man, humor- 
ously ; “ I ’ve had enough of boys ! What sort of a 
boy?” 


220 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ He had his hat over his eyes, but he looked to 
me just like that Hazard boy.” 

“ Jack ? That ’s too rich ! Ha, ha, ha ! The idee 
of Jack’s giving his friend Sellick a call ! Ha, ha, 
ha ! ” laughed the merry constable. 


HOW JACK RETURNED A FAVOR. 


221 


CHAPTER XXXIY. 

HOW JACK WON A BET, AND RETURNED A FAVOR. 

The next morning Sellick sat milking a cow in 
the yard, when a clear, pleasant voice close beside 
him said, “ Good morning, Mr. Constable ! ” 

He had heard footsteps and the rattling of a milk- 
pail behind him, hut had not looked around, thinking 
it was Billy the farm-boy coming to help him. How 
he looked, however, and there stood his escaped pris- 
oner of yesterday, smiling, with a milk-pail in one 
hand and a stool in the other. 

“ Ha ! good morning, sonny ! ” cried Sellick, ex- 
citedly. His first impulse was to spring and seize 
the fugitive ; his next, to sit still. 

“ You helped me milk yesterday morning, now I Ve 
come to help you,” said Jack. “ I like to pay my 
debts.” 

“ That ’s right ! that ’s fair ! ” said the astonished 
constable. 

“ Which is the kicking cow ? I don’t want to tackle 
her /” quietly remarked Jack, surveying the little 
herd. 

“ Try that heifer with the white forefeet,” replied 
Sellick. “ You ’re an honest boy, as I said yesterday ! 
I ’ve changed works many a time with a neighbor, 
but I never had one return my little favors quite so 


222 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF- 


prompt ! You kind o’ took my breath away ! Where 
have you been since we parted in that rather abrupt 
fashion yisterday ? ” 

“ 0, travelling about the country a little ! ” said 
Jack, seating himself beside the heifer. “ I thought 
I would make the most of my opportunities ; I may 
not have another chance soon.” 

“ What trick is the fellow up to now ? ” thought 
the constable. “ He must have settled the affair with 
Peternot ! ” So he said aloud, “ Have you seen the 
squire ? ” 

“ Hot since I left him with you in the court-room. 
The squire and I are not the best friends in the 
world, I ’m sorry to say. ‘ Nice old man, the squire ! * 
But I ’ve called on him once too often.” 

“ Where was you last night ? ” 

“ You kept me last night.” 

" I kept you, sonny ? ” said Sellick, more and more 
puzzled. 

“ Yes ; I thought it was no more than fair that you 
should give me a night’s lodging. I won’t ask you to 
board me ; I pay for my own milk, you know.” 

“ Yes, I know ! ” Sellick grimaced at the recollec- 
tion. “ But where did you sleep last night ? Hot 
under my roof ! ” 

“ Yes, I did, under your roof ! ” laughed Jack. 

“ Look here, sonny ! ” cried the incredulous Sellick, 
“ I ’ll bet ye a trifle on that ! I believe you ’re an 
honest boy, as I ’ve said ; but you could n’t have slept 
under my roof without my knowing it, unless Billy 


HOW JACK WON A BET. 


223 


smuggled you in, and he would n’t have dared to do 
it ! — Here, Billy ! ” An old-looking, broad-shouldered, 
hollow-cheeked youth came into the yard. “Did 
you take this fellow into my house last night?” 

“ I never saw him on the place before,” replied 
Billy, “ though I rather guess he ’s the one Mis’ Sellick 
says come to the door last evening and asked for you.” 

“ I came to your door, and afterwards slept under 
your roof,” Jack insisted. “ Since you offer to bet, 
I ’ll bet ye, — well, I’m no gambler, but I ’ll say my 
hat against a bowl of bread and milk.” 

“No more milk ! no more milk ! ” said Sellick, 
good-humoredly. “ That cupful of yisterday soured 
on my stomach, if it didn’t on yours. Call it a 
breakfast ; I ’m willing.” 

“All the better,” said Jack. “ Now just step into 
your barn, and in the left-hand farther corner you ’ll 
find a heap of straw, which you’ll agree has been 
slept on. There ’s a pitchfork standing behind it ; 
and there ’s a bound bundle, which I used as a pil- 
low. I walked in last evening and made myself at 
home, while you were leading your horse to the pas- 
ture.” 

“ I can believe all that,” said Sellick readily. “ But 
my barn ain’t my house.” 

“ I said nothing about your house ; I bet that I 
slept under your roof 

“ Sonny, I give it up ! Keep on in the way you 
have begun, and you’ll make a joker, by the time 
you ’re a hundred year old. But what in sixty have 


224 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


you come here for this morning ? If that ’s a joke too, 
I can’t see it.” 

“ I thought you might like to finish that little ride 
we began yesterday. Not that I ’m at all anxious 
about it,” Jack explained, “ but your heart seemed 
set on it ; and, thinking it over, I concluded ’t was too 
bad to disappoint you.” 

“ And you mean — ” Sellick, sitting by his cow, 
paused to grin at the young milker in puzzled aston- 
ishment. 

“ Yes, I do ! ” said Jack laughing ; “ I don’t mean 
to spill any more milk, nor lock up any more court- 
rooms, nor go through any more culverts, very soon.” 
Then, as Sellick still looked incredulous, he added, 
more seriously, “ I ’ve thought it all over, and made 
up my mind to just this, if I ’ve done anything to be 
taken to jail for, why, then, take me to jail, if .you 
want to.” 

“ You ’re deep ! ” said Sellick, still suspicious of 
some cunning design hidden beneath Jack’s candid 
avowal ; “ or else you ’re a bigger fool than I took ye 
for.” 

“ Have it which way you like,” Jack replied. And 
having fairly committed himself to this open and 
manly course, he felt his bosom swell with honest 
pride and satisfaction. “Now, whatever happens,” 
thought he, “ I ’ve done what is right ; I ’ll be true, 
I ’ll be my better self, I won’t lie or skulk, for any- 
body or anything ! ” Or if he did not think this, he 
felt it, and it made him brave and strong. 


HOW JACK WON A BET. 


225 


“ You ’re a smart boy to milk,” said Sellick, looking 
at the contents of Jack’s pail when it was brought 
to him. “ If you git out of this scrape, I should n’t 
wonder if I would hire you. What do you say ? ” 

It did not seem to Jack that he could bear to live 
so near Deacon Chatford’s house, and feel that he 
might never enter it again as he used to do. Yet 
such an offer was encouraging ; and the confidence in 
him which it implied, on the part of the constable, 
touched his heart. 

“ There will be time enough to talk about that 
after I get out of the scrape,” he said. _ “ I can’t make 
any bargain till then.” 

“ That ’s right ; that ’s fair and honest. You ’ll find 
it a fust-rate place,” Sellick went on ; “ good living, 
plenty to do, and a jolly man to work for. Do chores 
this winter to pay for your board, and go to school 
if you like ; and next summer I ’ll pay you wages. 
Think on ’t, you ’d better. Now for breakfast. 
You ’ve earnt yours, say nothing about the bet. You 
can milk a cow twice as quick as Billy. Good boy, 
but slow, is Billy ; drea’ful modrit ; stiddy as a yoke 
of oxen. Fust summer he worked for me — Talking 
about you, Billy,” said Sellick, as the old-looking 
youth overtook them on their way to the house. 

Billy, looking as if he was used to being made fun 
of, said, “ Sho ! ” and grinned, and hung his head. 

“ Telling how stiddy you be. Fust season he 
worked for me, I had a good deal of chopping to do 
over in the South Swamp. So fur off, men used to 
10* o 


226 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


carry their dinners. Billy went over every day ’cept 
Sundays, all spring, till along into May, when I no- 
ticed something mighty curi’s about his face. From 
a straight line down his forehead and nose, all one 
side was tanned like an Injin’s, while t’ other was 
white as a lady’s.” 

“ Sho ! ’t wa’ n’t so ! ” said Billy. 

“ Fact. And this is how it happened. He went 
over in the morning with the left side of his face 
turned towards the sun as ’t was rising, and come 
home at night with the same side turned towards the 
sun as ’t was setting ; worked in the shade of the 
woods all day, and never turned his head going and 
coming, ’cause he ’s sich a stiddy boy.” And Sellick 
set the example of laughing merrily at his own wit. 

“Folks that work for you don’t git a chance to 
come home with the sunlight on their faces,” grum- 
bled Billy. “ You keep us to work till dark, and 
sometimes by moonlight. You’ll find it so, if you 
come to work for him,” he added, turning to Jack. 
“’T ain’t like working for Deacon Chatford.” 

As Sellick had the reputation of driving his hired 
men early and late, this hit told ; and he made haste 
to change the conversation. 

“ Billy ’s bilious. Billy ’ll feel better arter break- 
fast. Billy ’s smart at one thing, if nothing else, — 
knife-and-fork practice. If he worked as well as he 
eats, there ’d be no need of his sometimes staying in 
the field till dark. But come in, come in ; breakfast, 
boys, breakfast.” And he led the way into the house. 


AT MR. CHATFORC’S GATE. 


227 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

AT MR. CHATFORD’S GATE. 

“How strange it seems,” said Mrs. Pipkin that 
morning, “ not to have Jack around ! I don’t be- 
lieve I should have missed any one of you so much. 
Somehow T can’t get used to his being away ; can you, 
Mrs. Chatford ? ” 

A tear quivered in Mrs. Chatford’s eye as she 
replied, “ I can’t be reconciled to his going in the 
way he did. I feel that we are responsible for the 
boy’s future ; and if he had died I could hardly have 
mourned for him more than I do ! ” 

This conversation took place at the breakfast-table, 
and it did not seem to help the appetites of those 
who heard it. The deacon shoved back his chair 
with a dissatisfied look ; for it was an uncomfortable 
subject to him, firmly as he believed himself justified 
in withdrawing from Jack his sympathy and support. 

“ I ’m so glad he got away ! ” said little Kate ; “ but 
I ’m afraid they ’ll catch him again ! ” 

“Not much danger of that,” remarked Mr. Pipkin, 
rising slowly from the table. “ A boy smart enough 
to do what he done yisterday, can keep clear of the 
clutches of the constables if he ’s a mind to. I ’ll 
resk Jack ! I ’d be willin’ to bet — By hokey ! ” he 
exclaimed in astonishment, looking from the window. 


228 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ What is it, Pip ? ” cried Moses. 

“ I ’ve lost my bet ’fore I made it ! J ack ! ” 
“Jack!” repeated several voices at once; and 
there was a general rush to the windows. Annie 
Felton’s face flushed, while Phin’s turned suddenly 
pale. “ Jack, and Sellick with him ! ” said the dea- 
con, unpleasantly surprised. “ I hoped — Could n’t 
the boy keep out of the way ! See what they want. ” 
Meanwhile Sellick, with Jack by his side in the 
buggy in which they began their ride the day before, 
had driven up to the gate and turned about. 

“ Hullo ! ” cried Moses, going out to them. 

“ Hullo back agin,” replied Sellick. “ Fine morn- 
ing. How ’s the folks ? Good morning, Mis’ Chatford.” 

“ I can’t say I ’m glad to see you ! ” exclaimed the 
good woman from the door. “ Poor boy ! how does 
it happen ? ” 

“ Jack took such a shine to me yisterday,” laughed 
Sellick, “ he could n’t bear the separation ; so he come 
of his own accord to renew the acquaintance this 
morning, — or last evening, — which was it, Jack ? ” 

“ 0 Jack ! did you give yourself up ? ” cried Annie 
Felton, alarmed to think he might have been led by 
her advice to take an unwise step, until the sight of 
his beaming countenance reassured her. 

“He’s too modest to say so, but that’s jest it,” 
Sellick answered for him. “ I took him yisterday, 
and he took me this morning — by surprise. I ’ve 
hardly got my breath yit. Bright boy, Jack ! honest 
boy ! Says he has done nothing he ought to go to 


AT MR. CHATFORD’S GATE. 


229 


jail for, but if we want to put him in jail, we can ; 
and I vow I don’t know but what that ’s the right 
view to take on ’t ! ” 

“ 0 Jack ! is this so ? ” said Mrs. Chatford, hurrying 
to the side of the buggy, and seizing both the boy’s 
hands, while she looked up earnestly in his face. 

“Yes,” replied Jack, smiling frankly, yet with 
quivering lips and misty eyes. “After talking with 
Annie last night,” — casting a glance of affectionate 
gratitude at the schoolmistress, — “I concluded I 
had been foolish. I did n’t know what I wanted to 
run away for. If I have done wrong, why, I ’m 
willing to suffer for it. I know I ’ve been wrong in 
some things. The idea of finding so much money, 
and then of having it taken from me, made me wild ; 
I was n’t myself ; but I guess I ’m all right now, and 
I hope you ’ll forgive me,” he said, winking away a 
tear or two. 

“ Bless you, dear boy ! what have I to forgive ? ” 
said Mrs. Chatford, while tears ran down her own 
upturned face. 

“ After all you had done for me, to think that 
I could be so cross and sullen to you and to 
everybody, because Squire Peternot had wronged me ; 
and then to have such thoughts, : — I can’t tell you 
what bad thoughts I have had!” Jack exclaimed, 
beginning to choke a little. “ But they are gone 
now, I hope. I ’m just going to take what comes, 
and make the best of it.” 

“ That is right ! 0 Jack, I am so glad to hear you 


230 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


talk so ! If you can go to jail in this spirit, it will 
do you no harm. I shall think more of you and hope 
more for you than ever ! So will all your friends. — 
Phineas, come here, and tell your father to come ! ” 

“ Well, Jack ! caught, after all, are you ? ” said Mr. 
Chatford, walking slowly towards the gate. 

“ No, sir, not caught ; Mr. Sellick won’t say I ’ve 
been caught,” replied Jack. 

“ No, I don’t take no credit to myself,” said Sellick ; 
“ Jack ’s here of his own free will, or he would n’t be 
here.” And he told the story of Jack’s stay in the 
barn the night before, and his sudden appearance in 
the cow-yard that morning. 

“ I think you ’ll be satisfied with him now,” added 
Mrs. Chatford ; “ for he has come of his own accord to 
make acknowledgments, and to ask our forgiveness.” 

“I’m heartily glad to hear it I ” said the deacon, 
astonished and gratified. “ As I said before, his false- 
hood about Phineas, and his standing out so about it, 
seemed to me worse than anything else. I rejoice if 
he has owned up.” 

“ I ’m ready to own everything that I ’ve done wrong ; 
but that is different. I was n’t going to say anything 
about it : but if Mrs. Chatford meant that, when she 
said I had come to make acknowledgments, why, 
she is mistaken. I spoke nothing but the truth 
about Phineas, and you ’ll know it some day, and 
then, maybe, you ’ll be sorry for having accused me 
of lying ! ” J ack struggled hard to control his feel- 
ings, but now, having said this, he began to cry. 


AT MR. CHATFORD’S GATE. 


231 


“ Phineas ! I told Phineas to come here,” said Mrs. 
Chatford, “ and now where has he gone ? ” 

“ I saw him sneaking off to the barn,” said Mr. 
Pipkin. “ He don’t seem to hanker arter a meetin’ 
with Jack, dono why ! ” 

Mrs. Chatford was agitated ; and the deacon ap- 
peared strangely disturbed. 

“ It hurt me worse than anything,” Jack resumed, 
wiping his eyes with his sleeve, “ to have you think 
I would try to get out of a scrape by flinging the 
blame on to anybody else, and then lying about it. 
And that ’s the hardest part for me to get over. But 
it ’s natural you should think so. I don’t blame you. 
I can wait for you to find out the truth ; you will 
some time. I ’ve no ill-will against Pliin, either ; but 
I don’t want to see him or have anything to do with 
him. So don’t call him. I know just what he would 
say.” 

" Well, well ! ” said the deacon, walking up and 
down the path in great trouble of mind. “ No doubt, 
no doubt ! You may be honest. It ’s a strange 
misunderstanding ! I hope it will be explained some 
day.” But it was plain to see that the good man’s 
prejudice against the boy was far from being overcome. 

Meanwhile Moses went to the barn to find Phineas. 

“ What are ye sneaking off here for ? ” he cried. 
“ Why don’t you go and see Jack, and own up to 
your lie about him ? It ’s your best way now.” 

“ Hain’t told any lie ! ” muttered Phineas. “ Come 
out here to watch Lion, fear he ’d get away.” 


232 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ You sha’ n’t have that excuse any longer ! ” ex- 
claimed the indignant Moses. “ It ’s too bad to keep 
the poor brute chained in this way ! ” And, pushing 
his brother scornfully aside, he loosed the dog. “ Bel- 
low, will you ? great baby ! — Clear, Lion ! ” 

Lion “ cleared ” ; and in ten seconds, darting past 
Mr. Chatford, and almost knocking Mr. Pipkin over 
as he encountered that gentleman standing by the 
gate, he leaped up on the buggy-wheel, whining, and 
wagging his tail, and struggling to reach his young 
master. 

Jack reached down, and patted the large, noble head, 
received the caresses of the eager, affectionate tongue, 
and dropped a tear upon the canine nose. 

“ Tell Phin he need n’t keep him chained ; I sha’ n’t 
steal him,” he said. 

“ Fine fellow ! ” said Sellick ; “ good dog ! If you 
come and work for me,” — in a low tone to Jack, — 
“ bring your dog with you ; I ’ll keep him.” 

“ Peternot ought to hear to reason ! ” exclaimed the 
deacon. “ Jack, why don’t you give up the money? ” 

“ I don’t care for the money ; I ’d as soon give it up 
as not,” Jack replied, very truly. “ But I don’t know 
where it is.” He checked a natural impulse to go on 
and repeat Aunt Patsy’s story. Jack was shrewd, and 
he did not believe that a revelation of what he knew 
of the spurious character of the coin would have the 
least effect in softening the squire’s mind towards 
him. On the contrary, some advantage might yet be 
gained by keeping the secret. 


AT MR. CHATFORD’S GATE. 233 

“ I suppose the Huswick boys have got it,” said 
Mr. Chatford. “ The squire had a warrant out 
yesterday for Cub and Hank ; that ’s a fact, ain’t it, 
Sellick ? ” 

“ I ’ll say this much,” replied the constable, — “ arter 
Jack give us the slip, we did make a call on our 
neighbor Huswick, and found Cub and Hank had cut 
stick. I never told anybody I had a warrant. You 
may infer what you please.” 

“ Does Peternot know Jack has given himself up ?” 

“ I see the hired man as we drove by ; he said the 
squire was tending prayers. Good old man, the 
squire ; has prayers in his family morning and even- 
ing. I told the man to tell him ; so he knows by this 
time. He ’ll be waiting to see his young friend. 
And now, if you ’ll hand out that little trunk you 
told me you had ready for him yesterday, we ’ll be 
moving on ” 

Mrs. Chatford talked earnestly with her husband 
aside. 

“ I don’t know what to do or think ! ” said the 
deacon. “ I ’ll see the squire again. He must hear to 
reason ! ” And he walked hurriedly away towards 
Peternot’s house. 


234 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE “ RIDE ” CONTINUED. 

Mrs. Pipkin brought out the valise which had been 
packed the day before. Annie followed with an arm- 
ful of books. 

“These will be good companions to you, if the 
squire does n’t relent,” she said, as she handed them 
up to Jack with an encouraging smile. 

“ I ’ve no hope of his relenting. But I don’t feel 
as I did yesterday,” said Jack. He glanced at the 
backs of the books. “ I think I shall have a pretty 
good time to read and study, there in jail ! Don’t cry, 
dear little Kate ! I ’m all right. Take good care of 
Lion. Good by, all ! 0 Mrs. Chatford ! Miss Felton ! 
I shall never forget how good you have been to me ! ” 

“Remember and read your Testament! I put it 
in the valise,” said Mrs. Chatford. 

“ And keep a good heart ! I ’m sure it will all 
turn out well. Good by, Jack !” cried Annie, as Sel- 
lick drove away. 

“ Go back, Lion ! back ! ” said the boy, hastily 
wiping his tears. “ Say good by to Moses ! ” 

Phineas, peeping from the barn, and witnessing 
these farewells, almost envied Jack, as he saw him 
ride off with the constable ; for already that wretched 
youngster was beginning to feel there was a worse 


THE 


RIDE’’ CONTINUED. 


235 



prison for the mind than a jail, — that of its own 
guilty thoughts. 

Deacon Chatford and the squire stood talking to- 
gether on the roadside before Peternot’s house, when 
Sellick drove up. The sight of their two faces was 
enough for J ack. The deacon’s wore a disappointed 
and gloomy expression ; the squire’s was grimly tri- 
umphant. 


236 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


"Hold on to him this time, Sellick!” cried the 
old man as he limped towards the wagon, grasping 
with trembling hand his horn-headed cane. “ If he 
thinks to work upon my feelin’s by this move, he ’ll 
find he ’s mistaken. I know his cunning tricks ! ” 

“ Squire Peternot,” said Jack, calmly, “ I never ex- 
pected to work upon your feelings. You can send 
me to jail, I ’m willing. You can have me brought 
to trial, and convicted of breaking into your house, I 
suppose ; for I don’t deny what I ’ve done.” 

“ You see how shameless he is ! ” said Peternot, 
turning upon the deacon. “ He ’d as lives go to jail 
as not ! Little he cares for public opinion, the hard- 
ened wretch ! ” And he struck the ground with his 
cane. 

“ If I ’m sent to jail for such a thing, the shame 
will be on you, not on me,” Jack answered. “ I 
should think you cared little for public opinion, to 
push a poor boy to the wall in this way ! ” his voice 
beginning to quiver with a rising sense of his wrongs. 

“ Ho ! that ’s your game, is it ? ” said the squire ; 
“ to make a martyr of yourself, and excite public 
feelin’ agin me ! ” 

“ I never thought of such a thing ! ” Jack declared ; 
and he whispered to Sellick, “ Do drive along ! ” 

Mr. Chatford was at the same time saying some- 
thing in a low tone to Sellick on the other side of 
the buggy. Then Sellick said, "Any last word, 
squire ? ” 

" My fust and last word to you is, look out for that 


THE “RIDE” CONTINUED. 237 

boy!” said Peternot, sternly. “ That’s all!” And 
he limped away towards the house. 

“ J ack ! ” then said Mr. Chatford, in an earnest 
tone of voice, “ have n’t you a last word for me ? ” 

“ Only to say good by, and to thank you for your 
kindness to me — before this thing happened,” fal- 
tered the prisoner. 

“Not that!” said the deacon. “But I hoped — 
I have declared I could n’t do anything for you 
till you had retracted that falsehood about Phineas. 
You know, I can give bail for you, and keep you 
out of jail till your trial ; and I will ! ” 

“ On condition that I confess to a lie ? ” said Jack. 
“ Then I shall have to go to jail.” 

“ I can’t bear the idea of that ! ” said Mr. Chatford, 
greatly shaken. 

“ It don’t trouble me much now,” replied Jack. 
“ It won’t be long before the court sits. I shall have 
to go and have my trial then, anyway. And if you 
should bail me, you’d be anxious about me all the 
while, — afraid I might run away, and your bonds 
would be forfeit.” 

“ No, no ! not now, since you ’ve taken this honor- 
able course, J ack ! I ’ll trust you ; only — ” 

“ Please don’t say anything more about that, Mr. 
Chatford ! And don’t worry about me. I ’ve been 
inside the jail ; I know how it is there. I shall be 
well off, with these books. Good by ! ” 

“ Better let him try it a spell, deacon ! ” laughed 
Sellick, as he touched up his horse. 


238 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ The boy — somehow he makes me love him ! ” 
muttered the deacon, gazing after the buggy with 
troubled, yearning eyes. “ I love him, and I believe 
him ! ” And he hurried home. 

“ Tell you what, sonny ! ” said Sellick, who had his 
own selfish reasons for cutting short this interview 
before it should lead to a better understanding, “ I ’ve 
thought what I ’ll do. Promise to come and work for 
me, and 1 11 go bail for you. You shall kind o’ work 
for your board till arter your trial ; then, if you git 
clear, we ’ll strike a bargain for a year. What do you 
say ? ” 

Jack thought of his books, and of Sellick’s bad rep- 
utation as an employer, and said to himself, “If he 
bails me, he 11 expect me to hire out to him anyway, 
for whatever he chooses to pay. In a year I should 
be as hollow-cheeked and round-shouldered as poor 
Billy ! Working for my board till my trial comes 
off, means working like a slave for nothing. I ’d 
rather have a little time to read and study.” Then 
he said aloud, “ I guess, Mr. Sellick, if it ’s the same 
thing to you, I’da little rather go to jail.” 

“ To jail it is, then ! ” said Sellick, snappishly, for 
he felt keenly the force of this reply ; and he gave 
his horse a cut. 


ONE OF THE DEACON’S BLUNDERS. 


239 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

ONE OF THE DEACON’S BLUNDERS. 

Farmer Chatford hurried home, and, entering 
the house, found the three women seated in a circle, 
holding a solemn consultation. 

Mrs. Chatford had just been saying, “ I ’m glad you 
didn’t urge him, Annie. He don’t often make up 
his mind in this way, but when he does it ’s no use 
arguing with him. I had said everything I could, 
before, to induce him to be Jack ’s bail : and when I 
mentioned the subject again — ” 

The deacon inferred, with reason, from the sudden 
manner in which this conversation ceased as he came 
in, and the scowl Mrs. Pipkin gave him, that his own 
conduct had been the topic of remark. 

“ Peternot is hard as a rock ! ” he said ; then added 
quickly, addressing Mrs. Pipkin, “ Call the boys, or 
your husband ; tell ’em to harness up old Maje and 
put him in the buggy, while I change my clothes. 
I ’ve thought of a little business in the city to-day.” 

Mrs. Chatford and Annie exchanged glances ; and 
the former whispered, “ I knew he could n’t be satis- 
fied to let Jack go off so ! ” Then, following him to 
the bedroom, “I’m glad you are going ! I want 
you to see the doctor, and tell him about Jack. He 
will do what he can for him, I ’m sure ! ” 


240 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ I guess there ’s no danger but what Jack will 
have everything done for him he deserves,” was the 
ambiguous reply. 

“ Could n’t you have any influence at all with the 
squire ? ” said Mrs. Chatford, handing him his second- 
best suit of clothes. 

“ No more than the wind that blows ! Strange,” 
added the good deacon, “ how a man can be so set in 
his way, and refuse to let any considerations of reason 
or humanity have weight with him ! ” 

“ Yes, it is, very strange,” remarked Mrs, Chatford, 
quietly. 

“ 0 papa ! ” cried Kate, running into the room, 
“ what is it about bailing Jack ? Would that keep 
him out of jail ? and could you do it ? ” 

“ Hush, child ! ” said her father. “ Bailing him might 
keep him out of jail a little while ; but what will that 
amount to ? He will have his trial all the same, 
when the court sits. The evidence is clear against 
him. He did break into Peternot’s house ; and if he 
did n’t steal the money* he stole the bag it was in ; 
that ’s the way the squire argues. I ’d bail him if 
that would get him clear of the scrape, but it won’t.” 

Just then Mose came in haste into the house, with 
the astonishing announcement that two of the “ Hus- 
wick tribe ” wanted to see his father. 

“ Cub and Hank ? ” cried Mr. Chatford from the 
bedroom. 

“ No ; Hod and Hick.” Hick (short for Hezekiah), 
aged twelve, was the sixth of this interesting family 



































» 










- 

































. 











Bringing in the Treasure. 



ONE OF THE DEACON’S BLUNDERS. 


241 


of boys. “ They Ve got something ; I should n’t won- 
der— ” 

“ Bring ’em in ! ” said the deacon, “ and be quick ! 
What can the scamps be after ! ” 

He came out, buttoning his suspenders, just as Hod 
and Hick marched in through the kitchen, one behind 
the other, bearing a short pole on their shoulders, 
with a curious burden hanging from it, about midway 
between them. It was a common meal-bag, having 
a compact but evidently heavy freight at the bottom, 
while the loose top was twisted over the pole and 
made fast by a cord. 

“What’s that?” demanded the deacon. “The 
money that’s made all this trouble!” 

“Ya-a-s!” said Hod, grinning and snuffing, and 
rolling his head from side to side, producing no small 
amount of friction between his left ear and the pole. 
“ Boys say they don’t want it. Belongs to Jack.” 

The deacon, far from suspecting that the rogues 
had the day before tried to dispose of some of the 
coin, and found it after all to be worthless, marvelled 
at this show of honesty in a quarter where it was so 
little to be looked for, and exclaimed, “ I declare ! I 
can’t understand ! What did they take this trouble 
for ? ” 

“ ’C-o-o-z ! ” said Hod, rolling his head again, 
snuffing, and drawing his smeared sleeve across his 
nose, — actions which Hick, at his end of the pole, did 
not fail to imitate ; for it was characteristic of these 
young specimens of the Huswick species, that, reck- 
11 p 


242 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


less as they appeared in their native wilds, they were 
pretty sure to be overcome by a grotesque bashfulness 
when brought within the doors of civilized beings. . 

“ ’Cause what ? ” demanded the deacon. 

“ C-o-o-z ! ” Hod rolled his eyes from him to 
Annie and Mrs. Chatford, and used his other sleeve. 
“ Squire ’s got out warrants for ’em. Take ’em to jail. 
They don’t want lioth’n’ to do with the money; 
want you to make him promise he won’t have ’em 
took up; then he may have the money, for all 
them. They found it in the woods, where Jack hid 
it.” 

“ I believe that ’s a lie ! ” said the deacon. “ But 
no matter. I ’ll make as good terms for ’em as I can. 
Is it all here ? ” 

“ Y-a-a-s ; every dollar on ’t, so they say. Slip 
her off, Hick ! ” and the two treasure-bearers lowered 
their burden to the floor. 

The deacon hastily untied the bag, looked into it, 
and then as hastily tied it up again. 

“ Good aft’noon ! ” said Hod. “ Aft’noon ! ” said 
Hick. And they sidled towards the door, hesitating, 
grinning, and smearing their sleeves. 

“ You can get some peaches as you go through the 
orchard,” the deacon called after them, as they dis- 
appeared. “ Open the big chest there, mother ! We ’ll 
lock up this stuff, till Peternot can be made to hear 
to reason. Is the horse ready ? ” 

Kate caught her father as he was going out. “ I 
want to send Jack something ! ” she cried. “I could n’t 


ONE OF THE DEACON’S BLUNDERS. 


243 


think of anything when he was here. But there’s 
that half-dollar ! ” 

“ What half-dollar ? ” 

“ My half-dollar. Don’t you know ? you borrowed 
it of me the other day, when you wanted one to ring 
with Jack’s on the doorstep.” 

“ But I gave it hack to you.” 

“ Ho, you did n’t. You put it in your pocket. You 
had on your old gray pants, and you have n’t worn 
’em since.” 

The deacon went back to the bedroom, took down 
the said garments from a hook, and explored the 
pockets. 

“ You’re right, my girl. Here it is now. Send it 
to Jack if you like. What ! ” looking with astonish- 
ment at the coin as he was about to give it to her. 

“ That ain’t my half-dollar ! ” the child exclaimed. 
“ That — that ’s Jack’s ! ” 

“ Massy on me ! Mother, see here ! How under 
the sun — ” stammered the bewildered deacon. 

“ If that don’t beat all ! ” said Mrs. Cliatford. “ Feel 
in your other pockets.” 

The deacon felt, but no other half-dollar could be 
found. 

“ Must be — I do declare ! ” he said, fumbling and 
staring. “ This piece has the very scratches on it ! 
I see ! I see ! ” 

“ How is it ? You said you gave this half-dollar 
to the goldsmith ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Chatford. “ I don’t 
understand ! ” 


244 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“My plaguy absence of mind !” said the deacon, 
scratching his head with one hand while he held the 
coin in the palm of the other. “ I must have put both 
half-dollars in my pocket, not thinking what I was 
about. Then — it was dark, you know — I gave the 
wrong one to the goldsmith ! gave him Kate’s instead 
of Jack’s ! ” 

“ Then you came home and told Jack his half- 
dollar was a good one ! 0 deacon ! it ’s you that have 

caused him all this trouble ! He never would have 
quarrelled with the squire, he never would have 
broken into his house as he did, but for your strange 
mistake ! ” 

“ ’T was a plaguy blunder ! Counterfeit, counter- 
feit, I ’ll stake my life ! ” said the deacon, examining 
the coin in the bag. “ Say nothing to anybody ; but — 
See here, Moses ! put it under the buggy-seat, and 
fling a blanket over it.” 

“ Now, deacon ! ” pleaded his wife, “ do use a Tittle 
more, I won’t say deception, but wisdom, more 
than you do sometimes ! Don’t tell the squire at 
once all you know, for that will be just like you.” 

“ Think I have n’t any gumption ? ” cried the deacon. 

“ No, but you ’re so honest, you never can use any 
sort of art or concealment, you know that ! That ’s very 
well in all ordinary business transactions ; I would n’t 
have you cheat a body, for any consideration. But 
your blunder has got Jack into this scrape ; and now 
don’t explain to the squire till you ’ve got Jack out 
of it again.” 


ONE OF THE DEACON’S BLUNDERS. 


245 


“ As if I required to be told by a woman that a 
little shrewdness may be necessary sometimes in 
dealing with the world ! ” said the deacon. And, 
climbing into the buggy with unusual alacrity, he 
whipped away at an extraordinary rate of speed 


246 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTEE XXXVIII. 

THE DEACON’S DIPLOMACY. 

Fiercely the squire was limping to and fro, be- 
tween his office-room and Mrs. Peternot’s kitchen, 
compressing his lips, and striking the floor every now 
and then with his cane, as he exclaimed, “ He shall 
lay in jail ! I ’ll prosecute him ! State’s prison ’s too 
good for him ! ” when his wife called from the win- 
dow, “ Squire ! squire ! Here ’s Deacon Chatford, 
jest drove up ; beckonin’ and hollerin’ ! ” 

“ What now, I wonder ? ” said Peternot, as he put 
on his hat and went out, frowning, to meet his neigh- 
bor. “ Wal ! what is it, deacon ? ” 

“ I ’ve thought of a plan,” said Mr. Chatford, hur- 
riedly. “ Get in here ; we ’ll talk as we ride. There ’s 
not a minute to lose ! ” 

“ What plan ? ” demanded the stern old squire. 

“ For settling the difficulty.” 

“ The diffikilty can’t be settled, unless peradventur’ 
the boy gives up the money.” 

“ That ’s just it ! ” cried the deacon. “ He said he 
was willing to give it up ; and now it ’s fallen into 
my hands.” 

“ The treasure ? in your hands ? ” exclaimed Peter- 
not, limping quickly towards the buggy. 

“ That is,” said the deacon, remembering his wife’s 


THE DEACON’S DIPLOMACY. 


247 


injunction, to use a little worldly wisdom on the oc- 
casion, — “ yes, I may say, in my hands, for I know 
where it is ; I ’ve secure possession on ’t ; and I ’ve 
resolved — But jump in! jump in! for we must 
overhaul Sellick before he delivers the boy up at 
the jail.” 

“ Wal, wal ! This sounds like ! — Wife ! wife !” 
called Peternot, “ hand out my gre’t-cut ! May be 
cool ridin’. — In your hands ? The best news yit ! 
It ’s cornin’ out right, arter all ! But, as you say, we 
must ketch Sellick ’fore he gits to the jail ; the case ’ll 
haf to go before the gran’ jury, if we don’t. — Wife ! 
wife ! can’t ye step quick for once ? ” 

Mrs. Peternot did “ step quick for once ” ; out came 
the overcoat, and into it went the stiff-jointed old 
man. Then away rattled the buggy with the two 
neighbors seated side by side. 

“ Ketch ’em ’fore they git to the jail, and I can 
manage J udge Garty,” said Peternot. “ But I must 
have some guarantee that the coin will be actooally 
restored to me, if I git the boy off.” 

“ If you require any other guarantee than my word 
of honor,” began the deacon — “ Get up, Maje, go 
long.” 

“ That ought to be enough ; sartin, sartin ! pervided 
you ’re sure you can put me into clear possession of 
the money, without any peradventur’ about it. Where 
is it ? at your house ? ” 

“ It was brought to my house half an hour ago by 
two of the Huswick boys. And that reminds me,” 


248 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


said the deacon, “ one of the conditions is, that you 
shall withdraw your complaint against Hank and 
Cub. I forgot to mention that.” 

“ If they Ve re’ly gi’n up the booty — but I can’t 
quite see into ’t ! ” said Peternot. “ It don’t seem like 
the Huswick tribe to part with plunder once fairly in 
their hands, for fear of a writ out arter ’em. Must he 
they don’t know the vally of the coin.” 

“Very likely ! ” said the deacon, dryly. “At any 
rate, they have sent it to me, and commissioned me 
to make their peace with you.” And he whipped up 
old Maje again. 

“ That seems fair. Though I own I ’ve had my 
mind set on punishin’ on ’em, the rogues ! They 
swindled me out of five dollars, when they carried the 
coin home for me ; but I s’pose I can afford to forgive 
’em that. So I say, if I don’t find they ’ve kep’ back 
a part of the treasure, I ’ll agree to drop the com- 
plaint.” 

“ And another thing, squire ! ” said the artful dea- 
con. “ You must do the right thing by the boy ; you 
must do something handsome for Jack.” 

“ Yes, yes ! sartin ! ” said Peternot. “ 1 11 make 
him a present ; can’t say jest what, but somethin’ lib- 
eral, somethin’ fair and liberal, deacon, I promise ! ” 

The deacon had to turn away to hide the smile 
upon his features. He did not press Peternot, to know 
wha t that " something fair and liberal ” should be. 

He now gave his attention to urging on old Maje’s 
paces, fearing to mar a good matter by speaking a 


THE DEACON’S DIPLOMACY. 


249 


word too much. Would not Mrs. Chatford give him 
a little credit for “ gumption ” after this ? Had he 
not managed the affair with the sagacity of an accom- 
plished politician ? He began to wonder a little at 
the stupidity he had shown on some previous occa- 
sions, a man of his diplomatic ability ; thinking par- 
ticularly of the manner in which he had given Kate’s 
half-dollar to the jeweller, instead of Jack’s. 

“ Strange how I could have made such a blunder ! ” 
he remarked, inadvertently, to the squire. 

“ What blunder ? ” cried the squire, quickly. 

Poor Mr. Chatford saw that he was on the point of 
letting out the very secret he had prided himself on 
keeping ; and he lost faith in his “ gumption ” on the 
spot. 

“ 0, I ’m such a terrible absent-minded man ! ” he 
exclaimed. “ I ’m forever forgetting something. Pie- 
member how I drove over to the Basin that Saturday 
night, and walked home, never thinking of the horse 
and buggy, till next morning, when we thought they 
had been stolen, and had that famous hunt for the 
thieves ? That ’s the way Jack came to live with us. 
Pippy arrested him, and brought him home, and he 
has been with us ever since,” Mr. Chatford went on, 
congratulating himself on having steered clear of the 
dangerous rock. “ Get up, Maje ! don’t be so blamed 
lazy ! There ’s my nephew, Syd Chatford, crossing 
the road ; I ’ll ask him if he has seen ’em pass.” 

“ I heard he had applied for the winter’s school in 
our deestrict,” said the squire. “ I hope you won’t 
11* 


250 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


forgit my nephew’s claims. It ’ll help clear up all 
these diffikilties, and make us better neighbors than 
ever, if you ’ll bear in mind that Byron was one of 
the fust to apply, and give him a trial.” 

“ I ’ll do what I can,” replied the deacon ; “ for, 
really, I don’t consider Syd just the man for the 
place, though he is my nephew. — Here ! hello ! 
Syd!” Syd, who had crossed the street, and was 
walking towards the house, turned back at his uncle’s 
call, and approached the buggy, in a smart, stiff way. 

“I haven’t a minute to talk,” cried the deacon. 
“Have you seen our Jack ride by with Neighbor Sel- 
lick ? ” 

“ Yes, about twenty minutes ago,” replied Syd. 

“So long!” exclaimed the deacon. “Driving 
fast ? ” 

“Pretty good jog,” replied Syd. “What’s to 
pay?” 

“ I declare, we must do better than this, squire, or 
they ’ll be there first, in spite of us ! ” And Mr. 
Chatford chirped, and shouted, “ Get up ! go ’long ! ” 
and lashed old Maje again, to the no small astonish- 
ment of his nephew, who, gazing after the cantering 
horse and rattling buggy, wondered if the usually slow 
and quiet deacon had not been taking a glass of some- 
thing strong. 


A TURN OF FORTUNE. 


251 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

A TURN OF FORTUNE. 

Sellick had a better horse than his neighbors, and 
he too had been using the whip a little since Jack 
respectfully declined working for him, preferring to 
go to jail. The merry man could not help thinking 
what a capital anecdote this would be to relate of 
anybody else ; but, as I have said, he did not greatly 
relish a joke at his own expense. 

His spirits rallied a little as they entered the city, 
and he said laughingly, “ You remind me of the man 
on his way to the gallows, who was offered a free 
pardon if he would marry a sartin woman in the 
crowd, not over ’n’ above handsome. He looked at 
her, shook his head : ‘ Sharp nose, thin lips,’ says 
he ; ‘ drive on, cartman ! ’ So, ruther ’n work for me, 
you 11 go to jail ! ha, ha, ha !” And Sellick began 
to think he would have to tell the story, much as it 
reflected on his reputation as an employer. 

“ I didn’t say just that,” replied Jack. “ If going 
to work for you would get me out of this scrape, I ’d 
do it. But I shall have to appear at my trial, and 
then, if convicted of housebreaking, have to serve out 
a sentence, anyway ; so the little time I ’ve to wait I 
may as well spend in jail over my books.” 

“ I don’t know but you take about the right view 


252 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


on ’t,” said Sellick, soothed by the explanation ; and 
the horse was allowed to slacken his speed. “I 
thought fust you’d been talking with Billy. Billy 
thinks he has a hard time ; hut he ’s slow. Me and 
you ’d git along finely together ! ” 

“ There ’s the jail ! ” said Jack, with a sudden sink- 
ing of the heart. 

“ That ’s the mansion,” remarked Sellick. “ The 
mouse-trap, I call it ; easy to git in, hard to git out. 
You ’ll have to trade hats agin now.” 

The constable, who had charge of the articles which 
the prisoner had left at the squire’s at the time of his 
escape, had let him put on the hat when they started 
to ride over to the deacon’s ; but it was necessary for 
him to retain it in his custody. 

“ Never mind,” said Jack, “ I sha’ n’t have much use 
for a hat here, I suppose. Old Scarecrow’s will do.” 

“ And arter your sentence, you ’ll be furnished with 
a cap at the public expense,” added the constable, as 
he drove up to the door of the jail. 

Jack looked with gloomy misgivings at the barred 
windows and massy front of the great stone building ; 
and for a moment his spirit failed him. Had he not 
acted foolishly in giving himself up ? Once within 
those walls, how long before he would have his free- 
dom again ? He thought of a hundred things at once, 
— his first visit to the jail, when he saw his step-father, 
Captain Berrick, there, with the other prisoners ; all 
his endeavors to do right, and his boasted chance for 
himself, since that day ; his friends left behind, whom 


A TURN OF FORTUNE. 


253 


he might never see again ; the strange calamity that 
had overtaken him, the long confinement, the dubious 
future. And the poor lad burst into tears. 

“ Come ! ” said Sellick. “ Here we be at the end 
of our journey, as the runaway pigs said, when they 
went on the table, roasted, for dinner. Never mind 
your things ; I ’ll hand ’em out, arterwards. Here 
comes the kind-hearted keeper of this tavern to wel- 
come his guest. What ! crying, sonny ? Changed 
your mind yit ? ” 

“No!” and Jack was himself again. “I’m 
ready ! ” — his resolution to pursue an open, upright 
course, and take with a brave heart whatever hap- 
pened, returning like a strong tide to buoy him up. 

“ What ’s that shouting ? ” said Sellick, glancing 
up the street. “ Hello ! if there ain’t the deacon and 
the squire coming arter us, lickety-split ! Wait a 
minute ! Le’s see what they want.” 

What they wanted was soon made manifest. 
“Judge Garty recalls his jail warrant, or he will 
do it ; new developments in the case ! ” cried the 
deacon, breathlessly, driving up. 

“ Pervided the boy consents to the arrangement,” 
added Peternot. “ The money is in our hands : he 
agrees to abandon all claim on ’t. — What do you say, 
before these witnesses ? ” 

“ I ’ve already said I was willing to do that,” said 
the astonished Jack. “But how — where did you 
find it — the coin, I mean ? ” 

“The Hus wick boys sent it over to my house. 


254 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


You abandon your claim to it, as the squire says, and 
throw yourself on his liberality, on his well-known 
generosity,” added the deacon, with a sly twinkle. 
“ He has promised to do the handsome thing by you, 
the fair and liberal thing ; and I ’ve no doubt it will 
be all you can ask, under the circumstances.” 

“ If he ’ll get me out of this fix, I shall be satisfied,” 
said Jack ; “ I ’ll trust the rest to his — - liberality, as 
you say.” And his heart gave such a leap of joy at 
the thought of getting off so easily, that he came near 
betraying his knowledge of the spurious character of 
the coin, by some mirthful demonstration. 

“ How you ’re reasonable ; now you talk as a boy 
should ! ” cried Peternot, approvingly. “ Turn about ; 
le’s hurry back to the judge’s office, and have the 
matter arranged.” For the old man was as anxious 
to secure the treasure, as Jack was eager to regain his 
freedom. 

“You spoke jest in time,” said Sellick. “A min- 
ute more, and the prisoner and the paper would have 
gone out of my hands. — Ho, thank you ! ” to the 
jailer; “you’re very kind, but I don’t think I shall 
need to trouble you this morning, — unless the boy 
insists on’t?” turning to Jack. 

As Jack did not insist, the two buggies were turned 
about and started for home ; Sellick, with his fresher 
horse, taking the lead. 

“ Old Maje is perty well used up ; guess the dea- 
con never drove him quite so hard before. One 
thing,” added the constable, “ surprises me, that both 


A TURN OF FORTUNE. 


255 


him and you should have been so willing to give up 
all the money, to buy off the squire. Between our- 
selves, he ’d ’ave been glad to take one half.” 

“ Think so ? ” replied Jack, coolly. “ Well, it ’s too 
late now. Let him have it. I’ll trust to his lib- 
erality , .” 

“ He ’s got about as much liberality as an old sow 
with a litter of fourteen squealing pigs and a scarcity 
of swill,” was Sellick’s rather coarse but expressive 
comparison. “Not that I’ve the least thing agin 
him ; nice old man, the squire ! Come ! what do you 
say now to hiring to me ? ” 

This question recalled to Jack’s mind the obstacle 
which lay in the way of his return to Mr. Chatford’s 
house, and his joy became clouded by a serious 
trouble. 

“ Come and bring your dog, you know,” said Sel- 
lick. “ I ’m a famous story-teller ; boys all like me ; 
we ’ll have grand times together. What do you think 
you can earn ? Four dollars a month ? ” 

“I should hope so, twice that!” replied Jack, 
thinking this was perhaps the best he could do. 

“ Say six dollars, when you ain’t going to school.” 
And Sellick went on to flatter and coax the homeless 
lad. “ Anything I can do for ye ? Come, ain’t there 
something ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Jack, “ one thing. I have n’t felt just 
right about this old hat I took from Mr. Canning’s 
scarecrow. We’ve plenty of time, they are so far 
behind us,” casting a backward glance for the squire 


256 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


and the deacon. “ Drive round that way, and I’ll 
leave it where I found it.” 

Sellick consented. Taking a by-road, he crossed a 
bridge, and drove on the north side of the canal 
towards the Basin, soon striking the road which 
passed the Canning cornfield. 

Jack jumped out at the well-remembered length of 
fence, which he climbed again, and, running betwixt 
the rustling rows, discovered the patient man-of-straw 
waiting, bareheaded, and surrounded by blackbirds, 
just as he had left him the day before. 

“ I wish I could return the ears of corn I took, in 
the same way,” he said to the constable, as he went 
back to the wagon ; “ but there are slight difficulties ; 
so never mind ! ” 


THE SQUIRE’S TRIUMPH. 


257 


CHAPTEK XL. 

THE SQUIRE’S TRIUMPH. 

They found Judge Garty in his office; and soon 
after the deacon and Squire Peternot arrived. Once 
more Jack, but now with a lighter heart than before, 
stood before the weak-eyed, hard-winking magistrate, 
who supposed that the prisoner, having been retaken, 
was now to be admitted to bail. 

“Not exac’ly that,” said Peternot, while Jack lis- 
tened with a trembling interest. “New sarcumstances 
have come to light, havin’ a bearin’ on the case. I ’ve 
an understandin’ with the boy ; I ’m satisfied he did 
n’t intend burglary ; it turns out to be re’ly a trivial 
offence ; so I ’ve ventur’d to bring the officer back 
with him, and I want you to recall your mittimus , 
assume jurisdiction in the case, and discharge the 
prisoner.” 

“That’ll suit him, I’ve no doubt,” said Judge 
Garty, winking placidly at Jack about forty times. 

“ It ’ll suit me to be discharged,” replied Jack, with 
a smile, “ though I can’t say I understand his talk 
about it.” 

“ A justice of the peace can’t decide in anything 
so serious as a burglary case,” said the deacon. “ But 
since the complainant is convinced that it wasn’t 
intentional housebreaking, it is different. The justice 

Q 


258 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


can assume jurisdiction, that is, take the case in 
hand, and decide it.” 

“ ’T will be a little irregular,” remarked J udge Gar- 
ty, rubbing the top of his bald head with the feather 
end of his quill pen, and winking wonderfully fast. 
“ Moreover, there ’s the costs. I suppose the com- 
plainant will in this case pay the costs ? ” 

“ Sartin, sartin,” said the squire, thinking he would 
thus discharge all obligations to the boy he had per- 
secuted. 

Judge Garty accordingly went through the formal- 
ity of putting Peternot under oath again, hearing the 
case, and pronouncing the prisoner discharged, all in 
about three minutes’ time. Then Peternot, with a 
grimace and a twinge, pulled out his pocket-book, 


and paid the following bill : — 

Costs of court $ 2.35 

Mittimus, and binding over witnesses . . .50 

Witnesses’ fees and travel (2 miles each, 5 cts. 

a mile) 1.20 

Sheriff’s fee 2.50 

Lock broken by sheriff after prisoner had 
locked up the court, and it became necessary 
for the court to get out . . . . .25 

Window broken by ladder 37 

Total ...... $ 7.17 


As Peternot and his nephew were the witnesses, 
the squire’s actual expenditures in the case amounted 
to five dollars and ninety-seven cents. 


THE SQUIRE’S TRIUMPH. 


259 


“ Now ! ” said he, eager to be consoled for what had 
caused him such a pang, “ for your part of the agree- 
ment, deacon ! ” 

“ Well, come with me,” said Mr. Chatford, with a 
peculiar smile. “ The treasure ain’t far off.” 

And, leading the way down the office stairs, to his 
buggy standing at the foot of them, he pulled up the 
seat, lifted a horse-blanket, and pulled from beneath 
it the squire’s meal-bag and its heavy freight of coin. 
Peternot grasped it eagerly. 

“ I must say, deacon, you ’ve played this perty 
well ! I ’d no idee you had it with ye ! I ’most wish 
you had n’t made it quite so public, though,” for the 
usual village crowd had assembled. “ I ’m afraid — 
I — I ruther think I ’ll take it over to the store and 
have it locked up in the safe.” 

“ You have n’t settled with the boy ; what ye going 
to give the boy ? ” cried Sellick, comfortably patting 
his fee in his trousers-pocket. 

“ The boy ! ” echoed Peternot, a frown of displeasure 
clouding the sunshine which played for a moment 
over the barren and rocky waste of his features. 
“ Arter all the trouble and expense he ’s put me to ? 
I said I ’d be liberal, and I have been liberal. I ’ve 
paid the costs of court, and got him off ; for which he 
may thank his stars, and think himself lucky. I 
won’t be hard, though.” The squire put his hand 
into the bag, as if about to present Jack one of the 
rusty half-dollars ; but changed his mind, and 
thrusting his hand into his pocket, took out a silver 


260 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


quarter. “ Here ! take that ! I ’ve nothin’ else to 
give ye.” 

Jack laughed, took the coin, and immediately pre- 
sented it to a shabby little old man in the crowd, who 
received it with quaint surprise. 

“ You are Mr. Canning, I believe,” said Jack. 

“ That ’s my name, that ’s my name. But what ’s 
this for ? What ’s this ? ” 

“ I had to borrow a hat from your scarecrow, and 
take a few ears of your corn to roast, yesterday,” said 
J ack. “ I ’ ve returned the hat, and this is to settle 
for the corn. I ’m going to begin life new, and I 
want to begin right with everybody.” 

“ That ’s right, that ’s right ! You ’re welcome to the 
corn, though; welcome to a few ears of corn, to be 
sure ! to be sure ! ” cried the shabby old man, pocket- 
ing the money, however, and walking off with it, 
looking, in his old-fashioned, long-tailed, tattered coat, 
like one of his own scarecrows out taking a little ex- 
ercise. 

“ Come, Jack, where are you going ? ” cried the 
deacon. 

“ Back into the office, to find the hat I left there 
when I ran away.” 

“ I carried that home. Now let ’s be going. 
There ’ll be an outburst in a minute,” said the dea- 
con, casting an anxious glance after Peternot, who 
was carrying his bag of coin into the jeweller’s shop. 

“ Jack is going home with me ; me and him ’s 
struck a bargain,” said Sellick. 


THE SQUIRE’S TRIUMPH. 


261 


“ Fie, fie ! nonsense ! ” said the deacon. “ We can’t 
spare Jack ; he ’s going with me” 

“ I ’ll ride with you. I ’d like to talk with you a 
little, and go home and say good by — and — and 
get my dog,” faltered Jack ; “ but you know — ” 

“ Yes, yes ! that misunderstanding between you 
and Phineas. 0, never mind about that ! ” 

“ I must ! ” said J ack. He is your son, and of 
course you don’t want — ” 

“ I want what ’s right, son or no son. Come 
along ! ” And the good deacon half lifted Jack into 
the buggy. “ There ’s Peternot now ! ” 

It was Peternot, indeed, rushing out of the jewel- 
ler’s shop with wrath in his countenance and several 
spurious half-dollars in his hand. 

“Wait ! wait ! ” he shouted, advancing towards the 
buggy as fast as his limp would allow. “ Deacon ! 
how ’s this ? You Ve desaived, you Ve ruined me ! ” 
« Deceived ! ruined you ! how so ? ” asked the 
deacon, calmly. 

“ He says you brought him a half-dollar to test, 
but not one of these ! ” cried the excited squire. 

« Yes, yes ; a blunder of mine ; I was telling you 
how dreadful absent-minded I am, you remember.” 

« These are counterfeit ! ” 

“ Are they, indeed ? Well, I ’m not surprised.” 

“ But you never told me ! ” 

« Ho, squire ; I ’d done so much mischief by telling 
that the coin was genuine, I thought I ’d hold my 
tongue, after I found out what a mistake I ’d made. 


262 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 



THE SQUIRE’S TRIUMPH. 


But I don’t see that you are ruined. You ’ve given 
yourself some trouble and expense, in order to get the 
treasure into your hands, that’s all. You’ve done 
one good thing, though, in getting this hoy off, and 
we appreciate it.” 

“ I ’ll have him up agin ! ” said the squire, furiously. 

“ 0 no, neighbor ! I hardly think you will. No 
* new circumstances ’ have come to light in his case 


THE SQUIRE’S TRIUMPH. 


263 


since you swore to your last statement ; and for you 
to complain of him again would plainly be a case of 
malicious prosecution. He ain’t to blame for my 
blunder. I deceived him with regard to the coin ; he 
has n’t deceived anybody. Did n’t know but what it 
was good till this minute; did you, Jack ? ” 

“Yes,” said Jack, with a grin. “Aunt Patsy told 
me last night it was some of Sam Williams’s bogus. 
But I thought it just as well not to say anything 
about it. I wanted to see how liberal he was ! ” 
The deacon smiled, the spectators laughed, and 
Peternot, turning angrily on his heel, stalked back to 
the jeweller’s shop, where he had left his bag of 
“ treasure.” 

“ Well, now we ’ll go home,” 
touching up old Maje. 


said the deacon, 


264 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTEK XLI. 

HOW IT ALL ENDED. 

Great was the joy at the farm-house over Jack’s 
return. Mrs. Chatford shed motherly tears on his 
neck ; little Kate hugged him as high up as she 
could reach ; while Mrs. Pipkin, and Mr. Pipkin and 
Mose, who had just come in to dinner, looked on with 
faces shining with delight and sympathy. Only Phin 
appeared not altogether enchanted with the turn 
affairs had taken ; and the envious, hypocritical ex- 
pression of his grinning face changed to genuine 
alarm as Mr. Chatford said, “ Jack has come just to 
say good by, and to get his dog.” 

“ His dog ? ” cried Phin. “ Our dog ! He can’t 
have our dog ! ” 

“ It is his dog, and nobody else’s,” said the deacon, 
sadly. " And though I don’t want to part with either 
of ’em, especially since Jack has shown himself such 
a man, we can’t detain him ; and of course he can take 
his dog, if he chooses. Sellick has made him an offer.” 

“ But you have n’t accepted it, have you, J ack ? ” 
said Mrs. Chatford. 

“ Not yet, but — ” 

“ What does he go for ? ” demanded Phineas, dis- 
turbed at the prospect of losing Lion. 

“ Because you ’ve lied about him, and he can’t live 


HOW IT ALL ENDED. 


265 


in the house with you ! ” said the deacon, with ex- 
traordinary sternness. 

“ I did n’t lie,” whimpered Phin. “ I remember 
now I did say something to him like what he said.” 

“ Then own up that it was a lie ! ” 

“ I did n’t mean it ; I wanted him to get back his 
money, and I thought you said something of the kind.” 

“ You thought no such thing ! 0 Phineas ! Phin- 

eas ! ” And the deacon almost wept with sorrow over 
his son’s meanness and untruth. 

“ I hope you ’ll forgive me ; I hope he will,” whined 
Phin. 

“I do,” said Jack, frankly, “now that you have 
owned up.” 

“ And you ’ll let Lion stay ? ” 

“ Lion is all he cares for ! ” said Moses, with angry 
contempt, as Phin slunk away out of sight. 

“ 0, here comes cousin Annie ! ” cried little Kate. 

Jack ran eagerly to meet his dear friend, but 
started back on seeing at her side his new acquaint- 
ance, Percy Lanman. 

The beautiful schoolmistress kissed him openly, in 
right sisterly fashion, and rejoiced over the good 
news. Percy pressed his hand warmly, and said, 
with that bright, good-humored look of his, “ I was 
out botanizing, and stopped at the school-house to 
get news of you ; and as Miss Felton was just start- 
ing to walk home, I walked with her.” 

“I ’in glad you did,” said Jack. “Here is the 
money I owe you.” Percy took it with a smile. 

12 


266 


A CHANCE FOR HIMSELF. 


“ There ! now I ’ve paid all my debts, I ’m even with 
the world, and ready to begin again ! — Yes, Kate, 
dear Kate ! I ’ll stay ; I Ve nothing to go for now. — 
Old Lion ! get down, you good fellow ! you silly boy’s 
dog ! ” And Jack dashed away a tear. “ You are all 
so good to me ! I never was so happy in my life ! ” 

And yet it gave him a curious feeling, something 
that was not quite unclouded joy, to see his two 
friends, Percy Lanman and Annie Felton, standing 
there, smiling, side by side. Though what there was 
in that to trouble him I cannot precisely say ; can 
any one guess ? 

Still a happy boy indeed was Jack. His great 
trouble had passed by ; and he had no more dread of 
the jail, of trial and sentence. His brief experience 
of the cares and snares of riches had taught him 
wisdom, and the upright course he resolved upon 
at last had developed a conscious strength and man- 
liness in his heart, richer than any fortune. He 
was once more in his dear home, with his dearest 
friends around him, their confidence in him restored, 
and their love for him increased. And now, not self- 
ishly as before, but very gratefully, very lovingly, he 
felt that he had for the first time in his life, rightly 
and truly, 


A Chance for Himself. 



APR 25 1903 



APR 30 1903 


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